#so i know whatever this is is partially my own damn doing

[doctorghoti]

It feels like the exhaustion is in my soul. Or perhaps exhaustion replaced it.

[princessbrunette]

after a long and traumatic week, seeing and experiencing dreadful things — puppy!reader gets into the habit of needing john b to rock her to sleep. every night.

if he doesn’t, there’s tears — and bless your heart he understands. before these few weeks, he’d managed to protect you from it all. being shot at, stumbling on skeletons and dead bodies all for the sake of finding the next clue for the treasure that seemed so far away. at the time, and for your safety he had to bring you along — but as he watches your lip curl over, clinging to his chest back at the chateau — he regrets not finding a way around it.

“well sleep is important, bubba. you need rest.” he stresses, trying to ease you into relaxing as you argue against him. “c’mon. i know you’re tired. i can tell.”

“but i know i’m going to have a nightmare again! ugh.” in a moment of stress, you softly bury yourself into his arm, sinking teeth gently into his tanned bicep.

“noooo you won’t.” he croons in that comforting deep voice of his, slotting his hand between your face and his arm so that he can stroke your cheek with his thumb until you ease up on your bite. you huff, flopping back into his arms dramatically like you’d died mid conversation and he smiles, softly manhandling you until you’re lying directly on his chest. “i’ll tell you why you’re not gonna have any nightmares, pup. it’s because i’m gonna be riiight here. all night. you’re gonna get all hot and bothered and wish that you had your own bed, seriously.” he keeps his tone lighthearted as you get comfortable, but his face falls when he hears you sniffle. “hey, i know.” he acknowledges solemnly, kissing the top of your head.

“jus’ nervous.” you slur, muffled into the fabric of his shirt and he nods in understanding. without thinking much of it, john b starts to sway your body left to right, gently rocking you to attempt to halt your tears. after a moment, you seem to quieten down. “keep doing that.” you rasp after a few minutes, barely awake.

“mhm.” he hums, trying not to disturb you as much as possible with his response, continuing to rock you in his arms. for the first time in a while, you sleep soundly — with no bad dreams.

because of the success in john b’s new technique — you started to require it every night. as soon as you feel the tiredness creep up on you, you’re crawling into his lap, making a rocking motion with your body to communicate what you want. doing this every night might become tiresome to some, but your boyfriend was filled with guilt — accidentally putting you in such dangerous scenarios lately that your body was now riddled with anxiety, needing the gentle motion in order to have a stress free sleep. whatever he could do to help you, to rid himself of the guilt — he would comply.

occasionally, you had required this treatment during a nap in the middle of the day too — straddling him on the couch with the shy request.

“get on in here.” he opens his arms to wrap around you, letting you burrow down into him. as soon as he begins to rock you side to side, your brain starts to power down, even able to partially ignore jj when he loudly strolls in, aware of your habits.

“damn, it’s rockin’ time already? a little early.” the blonde converses casually making the brunette frown and wave one arm at him.

“shh, but yes. yes it is.”

unable to control his behaviour, maybank begins to dance, moonwalking across the wooden panels of the chateau floor. “i wanna rock with you, alllll night.” he sings, making you groggily lift your head to blink an eye at him.

“are you done?” john b deadpans.

“oh hey there sleepy-pooch. my bad, go ‘head and take that nap.” jj busies himself with a beer bottle, grabbing it to settle down with on the couch, eyes latching onto the tv.

you’re fast asleep in a matter of minutes, the gentle humming of the tv mixing with the sounds of your soft snores. “damn, she’s out like that already? guess they found the cure to insomnia. hey, can i try next?” jj teases, lifting the bottle to his lips making the brunette shake his head, not even bothering to glance away from the tv.

“would you shut-up? maybe?” he mumbles in careless retaliation, just happy his sweet pup was getting the rest she deserves.

[cxrsed-angel]

Key Hooks Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Fluff

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Joel repeatedly loses his keys after you suggest a key dish. He finally gets a key hook and has a suggestion of his own.

Warnings: None really. slight mention of sex, domesticated fluff. No Outbreak Au. Sarah is in college.

A/N: Just Joel based on an ad and a dream I had. Pretty sure this is my first fic with Joel that doesn't have an age difference mentioned 😭. Also, it's the first nonsmut Joel fic in a while. (also nervous bc i haven't posted in a while and I kinda hate the title but whatever)

Joel was running late, super late. He had woken up later than expected. Hit snooze on his alarm twice. Partially because you were in his bed, and he didn't want to leave you, but partially because of you again because you kept him up begging him to fuck you more, and of course, he couldn’t resist. He could never tell you no, but that resulted in him being sore and tired and missing his two alarms.

You woke up yourself when you heard him cursing and muttering to himself, loudly moving things around, frantically searching for something.

You sit up in his bed, confused by the sounds Joel is making as he searches for his keys. Looking at him, you see him shake a pair of jeans that was lying on the floor.

“What the hell are you doing? Shouldn't you be leaving?” you ask, barely awake as you look at the time on his alarm clock.

“Can't find my damn keys.” He moves, searching through the stuff on his nightstand.

“I told you you needed a key holder.” Slowly leaving the warmth of his bed to help him search for the missing keys. You look on the other nightstand but don't see them there either. You sigh, looking as Joel searches on his messy dresser.

“Where'd you leave them?” you ask mid-yawn, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. It still takes a moment to actually wake up, and you're fairly tired from last night as well.

“Don't remember, you were yanking my pants off the second I got through the door, could be anywhere.” Joel searches on the floor but still fails to find them.

You nod, remembering how desperately you needed him after he returned from work. Putting your hands on him the first chance you got.

You decide to go downstairs. You glance at the clock. 9:30 a.m. Yeah, he was already 30 minutes late for work. You get out of his bed, putting on a pair of slippers you keep at his place. You search downstairs, checking underneath mail and other documents, on counters, and in the kitchen, but nothing. Joel’s not far behind you, also searching downstairs.

“Are you sure you can't skip today? Stay home. I can skip; we can both relax at home.” You ask, joking, kind of, but you're meant with just one of his unamused glares, taking it as a no. He sighs, frustrated as the search continues.

You move to the couch, searching under the cushions, the scene of last night's activities; you figure they could’ve slipped in between the cushions.

“You know, if you had a key holder, you could’ve been out the door.” You remind him as you look around for them.

“Also could've been out the door if you didn't beg me to fuck you last night before I even had my shoes off and made me lose them in the first place.”

You nodded. He had a point. With how fast you were on him, you probably tossed his keys across the room. You reach into the couch cushions and feel the familiar shape of keys in your hand. You hold them up, jangling them to show Joel you found them. He smiles as he walks towards you to grab them, but you pull them away from his reach at the last minute.

“You will finally get a key rack. I mean, I get it. Sarah moved into her dorm, so you want the whole man cave thing and everything, but will a key rack kill you? He rolls his eyes and reaches for them, nodding.

“Yes, I’ll get a damn key rack now give them so I can go.” He reaches, grabs the keys out of your hand, and gives you a quick kiss on your lips before leaving.

A few weeks later, Joel picked you up for a date and decided to take you to a new movie. You're in his black pickup truck heading back to his house since you have a few roommates back at your apartment and just want to spend time with him alone. After a car ride of forcing Joel to listen to your favorite songs since he lost rock paper scissors you got control of the music. He pulls into his driveway, turning the car off.

“Can’t believe I spent the last 15 minutes listening to that.” He grumbles, getting out of his truck, you watch as he comes around to the passenger side to open your door. You quickly find that you’ll never be opening doors when you're with him.

You smile as you get out. “You were dancing to it. Don't think I missed that.” He rolls his eyes as he closes the truck door behind you with his right hand while his left comes to the small of your back.

“I wasn’t dancin’. You were seeing things. The truck was just moving.” He walks with you to his front door as you laugh. Knowing he was definitely dancing to the songs.

“Yea? Does the truck always move to the beat or just this once?” You giggle again as you enter his house, your second home. He’s right behind you, closing and locking his door. You're removing your shoes and getting more comfortable when you hear his keys jingle.

You bend over, taking your shoes off, not facing him, but you didn't want a repeat of a few weeks ago. “Better remember where you put them this time, old man. I don't need you tearing your place apart at 8:00 am because you can't bother getting a key dish.”

“Well, I won’t forget since they have a home now.” His words make you stand up

You look up, noticing a wooden key rack with a shelf above it and a spot for mail. You see Miller engraved in the wood. You see Joel’s set of keys on it, and you smile.

“You bought a key holder?” You stare shocked at him, never expecting that he actually would.

“No, I built a key holder with some leftover wood and got some hooks. Sarah helped me with it one weekend. It was she who told me to add the mail holder.”

You laugh, looking at it closer, admiring his work, and looking at his house with his woodwork around. The shelves, the bookcase, the CD stand—all things he made over the years.

“You know it never fails to amaze me when you show me what you make. You've made things like a dresser and a table, and you made my desk for me and added cute flowers on it.”

Joel shrugs, never been good at accepting compliments, he shakes his head as he looks at the key holder.

“It’s my job, sweetheart. Would be kinda embarrassing if I was shit at it. I’ve been building things since I was a kid with my dad. He taught me and Tommy.”

You nod, slightly rolling your eyes at his inability to accept a compliment. You move closer to him. “Yeah, I know, but it’s still cool, Joel.”

You feel his hand come to your lower back, pulling you into a kiss, and you instantly melt against him, feeling his lips on yours. His left hand joins his right on the small of your back, pulling you even closer against him. Before the kiss gets too heated, you feel his lips leaving yours.

“Wait, almost forgot.” You watch as Joel reaches into the back pocket of his Levi’s, pulling out a single key and holding it out to you. “a key cause…well, I know you mentioned your lease ending in a few weeks….and well, we've been together for a bit…. I was just thinking about you moving in. If you want. If you don’t, that’s fine. I mean, you can keep the key anyway and-“

You crack a faint smile hearing him ramble and you could tell he was nervous about asking you to move in, which was sweet. You had thought about it but assumed Joel had preferred his bachelor pad since Sarah moved into her dorm this past fall. You never thought he’d actually ask. you only mentioned your lease ending soon once on the phone. You didn’t imagine he’d remember, let alone offer you to move in.

“You want me to? Because I have a lot of shit, and Sarah just moved out. ” you smile a bit, seeing him laugh.

“it’s up to you, baby. No pressure, just offering. But half your shit is here anyway. You spend most nights here anyway, and I got half your wardrobe taking up room in my closet already.”

You nod, smiling, knowing he was 100% right. You’re still thinking about what to do when he speaks again.

“Sweetheart, I don’t need an answer right now. Relax. Just let me know, okay? My offer isn’t going anywhere.”

His deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts as he grabs your hand lightly, pulling you into his living room. You sit on the couch while he goes to the kitchen, grabbing the remote to find something to watch. A few minutes later, Joel hands you a glass filled with your favorite wine while he has a beer for himself. Moving his arm around your shoulder, he pulls closer to you, still thinking about his offer in the back of your mind.

[writersp3n]

···➯ 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐞: 𝐒𝟎𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞

⋆.˚ ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐒𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐗 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤!𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞; Masterlist and other things regarding my blog are on my site. I started writing this before, we found out about that scraped ending (thank god they didn’t put it in.) At first, it was his family (of my own headcanon.) But I changed it to his mom last minute. I'm also finishing up a request I got it’s almost done so it's probably coming out in a day or 2. And this is my first Sebastian fic, def not the last one either.

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; You knew Sebastian missed his life before UrbanShade, so you try to give him what you could of it.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠; Cursing, Fluff, Angst, Crying, Slight Sebastian Backstory spoilers (?), Reader and Sebastian are genuinely nice to each other.

8.27.24 |𝟏.𝟏𝐤 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

✂〰〰〰〰〰

You were clawing through the vent to Sebastian's Shop, but once you got in there, he wasn’t there to greet you with a snarky remark. It didn’t take long for you to find him, sleeping in his makeshift bedroom area. Tail hanging off the edge, swaying slightly but something was off. You could hear soft whimpers and mumbles coming from where he rested. “M-mom, I didn’t do it, I.. I didn’t kill those people.” You heard him say as he tossed and turned, he was having a nightmare. 

Walking over to the area where he rested, there was a ladder, partially covered by his tail. Nonetheless, you could still use it to wake him. You could hear him call out for his mother once more, and others mostly feminine names, but one “Michael” that was a boy's name for sure. Was it his son? Father maybe? No couldn't make sense that he was calling his dad by his real name; It had to be his son. 

You were nearly at the top before his tail whipped around, and you pulled back dodging it. “God damn giant..” you grumbled, pushing yourself up on the ledge. Brushing your knees you crept over to Sebastian’s shelter, making sure to not step on anything he might’ve had in his makeshift bedroom. As you stood over him, reaching down to tap him on his shoulder you watched as his face contorted with discomfort and his ears twitched. You observed him for a few seconds watching, waiting to see if he would wake up himself, but he didn’t. Instead, he whimpered and mumbled more calling out a woman by the name of Abigail, his body twitching and he began to toss and turn more. 

It began to bother you to see his discomfort crouching down, you gently placed your hand on his shoulder shook him, and called out his name a few times. “Sebastian, Sebastian get up. It’s me.” 

“Mom?” He reached out toward your hand, but instead of pulling away, you let him grab you. “No, it's y/n” you answered,  “You were having a nightmare, I just wanted to wake you up.”  Pulling your hand back from my shoulder. You took a few steps back, giving him his space. 

“Thanks.. for that.” 

“You’re welcome”  

Sebastian made his way down the ladder, to shop part of the room. You followed behind, you were getting ready to climb back down before he spoke up.

“Jump.” 

“What?” 

“I said jump,” He repeated himself. “I know what you said but what.” You furrowed your brows, “I’ll catch you,” he added. You looked up at Sebastian and back down at the floor, and again, you looked back at him. “ You want me to jump and expect you to catch me?” You question all you got was a simple nod in return. “Ready?” he asked, extending his arms, prepared to catch you. Taking a deep breath, you stopped the back of it, giving yourself a run start before you jumped off the ledge half of you expected the fall to the ground and just died. You came to a stop when you felt Sebastian’s hand wrapped around both of your arms and gently placed you on the ground. “That wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be.” 

“Take whatever you need, free of charge.” The serpent stretched out his two upper arms, while the third one scratched his back. You paused for a moment, before speaking. “You sure?” 

“Positive.” 

You gleamed, smiling as hard as you ever have since you’ve been with Urbanshade. You quickly ran over to the table stuffed a few batteries in your pocket, grabbing a flashlight, beacon, and a medkit. “Thank you so much, Seb I promise I'll make it up to you next time. You have my word.” And with that, you crawled right back to the vent and went on with your task.  

 You left Sebastian, alone to sit with his thoughts. Usually, he would be thinking about collecting stuff off of dead Expandables but this time was different, the memory of his wife calling him was the only thing he could think about, she was the only woman to call him Seb.

────────────────────⋆⋅♰⋅⋆────────────────────

Pushing open the vent that led to Sebastian's shop you called out, “Seb, I got something you gonna really like!” All you got was a hum from him before he approached you. He watched as you started pulling things out of the bag you had, which was weird usually they don't let expendables bring anything with them down here. “Here's the normal stuff you ask for, but I was able to convince them to let me use a laptop and a printer.” Smile plastered on your face, you handed him a file ‘S0lace’. He took it, of course, opened it, and looked at the papers carefully. Flipping the pages there with photos of people, he knew these people it was his family. His mom, Wife, son, and his daughter. His brows furrowed as he glanced up at you “Why?” 

“The last time we saw each other, you were having a nightmare.” You said glancing down at the ground, nervous about how Sebastian might react. “You were calling out to people, your mom..” You paused, “You were calling for her, and your wife. I just thought you would like to know what they were up to in life.” You spoke quietly, picking at your nails you felt Sebastian stare at you. 

Sebastian listened to your short explanation as he continued to look through the folder, his sisters were there, and his younger brother as well. “And you got this past them?” He questioned, you nodded in response yet that did not satisfy him. “Words.”

 “I- I did.” You stuttered, “I um, it wasn’t easy though I uh almost got caught, but I got it down here for you.” You recalled the memory, the room was filled with silence. Before you felt Sebastian's lower arm wrap around you and pull you in for a hug. Sebastian was buried into your shoulder, as you stood there in shock for a few seconds before returning the gesture. “Th-thank you, I- You don’t understand how much his means to me.” You heard him mumble. “You’re welcome.” You replied, you felt your shoulder begin to dampen. You started rubbing Sebastian's back, “It’s okay, you don't have to hold it in.” You comforted him.

Sebastian began crying, his body relaxed, as he sobbed. In all your time knowing the giant blue sea creature you never saw him cry. but yet you coddled him in this moment.

[megamindsecretlair]

Blackbird, Part 2: Envy

Pairing: Mob Boss!Fontaine x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, fluff, angst, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word and non-inclusive language. Minor OC backstory. Graphic depictions of violence.

Summary: You are a dancer trying to make it in a world not built for your body type. Fontaine is a gangster trying to rise through the ranks of a prominent gang. You were growing in your relationship with Fontaine. He was rising quickly through the ranks of the Scarlets, carving a name for himself while you fell in with a theater troupe, getting closer to the life of your dreams. You spend some time with Fontaine before he’s ordered to handle a shipment for his boss, Porter.

Word Count: 10,893k

Interested in a Blackbird playlist? I'm not the greatest at curating songs but these remind me of these two. I may add or remove songs at my discretion.

A/N: WHEW. I know it's been forever since I updated this. But I finally got inspired. Woot! Please let me know what you think! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, reblog, or umhinged ask!

Moodboard by the sweestest person ever, planetblaque!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @logansblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @sageispunk @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @umber-cinders @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @iv0rysoap @amethyst09 @ciaqui @harmshake @00aijia00 @ms-angiealsina @satoruya

It was a fresh day. Mornings had a way of clearing everything up the night before. Wiped the slate clean. All those dark and depressing thoughts were tucked away for the time being. 

You had the window partially open now so you could watch the night swallow the sun as you sat in the office, ready to confess more of your sins. And mistakes. You sighed, looking down at your royal blue dress. It was one of the first things Fontaine bought you. One of the first things he liked doing with his building wealth.

He liked to buy you things so you could model it for him. Watch whatever piece it was or jewelry it was shine and mold to your body. He liked to fuck you in it, so it ended up being more dresses and skirts than anything else.

Your core heated up just thinking of it. Those days where the kisses came more frequently, a burning need to stick around each other. Orbit each other. Like each moment spent apart hurt like hell. 

Mr. Gates shuffled into the room, making plenty of noises so that he didn’t startle you. These things came more often. Times where you zoned out, reliving every memory. As if you visited it often enough, when you died, you’d be able to take it with you. Play it in the afterlife as if not even your murdered soul would be able to hate Fontaine.

You smiled at him as he closed the office door. The floor had been cleared, upon request, and now it was just you, your lawyer, and this damning tape. It had never been easy for you to admit failure. Failure was just an opportunity to learn and do better. And now it was immortalized on tape. 

Mr. Gates sat down and placed the recorder on the desk. He turned it on and went through the intro, introducing himself, the date, the time, and who else was present. He asked if you were doing this of your own free and clear will and you stated your name and agreed. He nodded his head. 

You missed the old school recorders. The kind that you could hear the tape moving. Now, it was just a blinking red button flashing up at you. You took a deep breath.

“I guess what excited me the most was that Fontaine loved me. And that kind of love is addicting. After a year of dating, you’d have sworn we’d just met by the way we couldn’t go a day without seeing or feeling each other…”

You danced around your apartment, learning the choreography you needed. You worked hard continuing to go on auditions and sticking to your workout regiment. You were slimming down in the areas that mattered like your face and arms. Who knew that stress didn’t go so well with losing weight? 

Fontaine had been a godsend. Your feathers were ruffled at first, everything in you screaming not to rely so heavily on a man. But Fontaine would have none of it. He was too smart for his own good. Whatever you didn’t want to fess up, he conned, bribed, and schemed to find out some other way.

Sometimes you did it on purpose. You liked seeing him in focused mode, hunting after his target with hunger in his eyes. Fontaine was able to knock down each moral that you had by every stroke of his dick. Every kiss of his lips. Things that used to turn your stomach became justified in your mind the more Fontaine explained it away.

A condition of you being with him was that you had to hear the truth from him. You didn’t want to be surprised. If you were going into this with both eyes open, then your punishment would be to listen. To become complicit in everything he did. Every piece of drug that shipped out, every person that had to be bribed, every head that was taken to make his fat boss Porter richer and richer. That man was greedy.

And his greed only made those around him more and more jealous. All of that wealth. Won off of the backs of his employees. While he sat up and got fatter and fatter. It was disgusting. And you feared that Fontaine would fall into the same trap. So you listened. And you hoped to serve as a reminder that he did have something else to live for. Not just the next dollar.

Fontaine walked into the living room, zipping up his pants. He worked on his open shirt next, buttoning it up. You swayed your hips a bit more, bent over when you didn’t have to, and teased him with your eyes.

Fontaine stopped short and watched you, instantly hypnotized by your movements. He has never missed a chance to watch you dance. Watch you entice him with your body. You loved the bit of power, the bit of thrill it sent you to know that you had a powerful man like him putty in your hands. For a brief moment anyway. 

You turned around, baring your back. You wore a pink tank top and booty shorts. You dropped slowly to your knees, spreading your legs and lightly shaking your ass. 

Fontaine groaned. “That’s not part of the routine,” he said.

You looked at him over your shoulder and then started rising. “You know all of my routines?” You asked.

“Every one. And that is not part of it,” he said. His voice got rougher at the end. You wondered if it was because of the way you started dropping again. 

“Are you sure? This could be a new one,” you said. 

“I know the new one too,” he said. 

You laughed. You looked back to see if he was continuing to dress. His shirt was still open, hands clenched in fists by his side. He had only planned to drop by for a quickie, the texts you were sending driving him insane until he rushed over and hit it like you needed him too. It had been…five hours since you last had a taste and he couldn’t leave a junkie for long.

You bent over and raised back up, shaking your ass for him. You turned around slowly and fondled your breasts over your tank top. The rough material rubbed against your hardening nipples and you bit your lip. 

Fontaine moved over to the couch, beckoning you closer. You took a few steps forward and then stopped. “Are you sure? Don’t you have a busy day?” You asked.

“Fuck all that, come here,” he said. He inserted some bass in his voice and it sent shivers of desire down your arms and body. 

Pulled by his words, you walked closer to him. He rubbed his thighs as you got closer, petting his dick over the fabric of his pants. His bulge was visible where you were and you licked your lips. With him, you were never satisfied enough. Never wanted to go a minute without him inside of you. 

You’d never thought that being dickmitized was a thing. A year ago, you would have thought that no man would have you speaking in tongues. Or calling late at night for a booty call. Or not letting him leave the next morning because you needed one more. Begged for one more time and one more time. 

You dropped into Fontaine’s lap, spreading your legs over his massive thighs. He groaned as you leaned on him. He cupped the back of your head with his big hands, cradling you like you were the most precious thing on the planet. He slanted his lips against yours, plush, full lips that kissed you so well. 

You gasped into his mouth and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside. Dance with yours. He suckled on your bottom lip. You moaned and rubbed your pussy into his crotch. You needed one more time before he left you again. Left you to do more awful things in the streets of LA. 

His left hand left your head and skimmed down the right side of your body. He pushed the seat of your shorts and panties to the side, fingers finding you wet, and he groaned. He played with your pussy, rubbing you up and down from your clit to your entrance. He gathered more and more of your slick, to the point that you could hear his fingers smacking in your clenching pussy. 

You moaned into his mouth as he continued with his sweet torture, bringing you to the edge only to back away and retreat to your entrance. His plunging fingers were a distraction, calming your orgasm down enough to where it was no longer imminent. 

“Fuck, Fontaine, please,” you moaned. 

“I love to hear your pretty ass beg, sweetheart,” he moaned against your lips. 

“Please, Fontaine, please, Fontaine,” you said between kisses. He was killing you from the inside out. 

“Keep begging like that, I’ma bust this nut I’m holding,” Fontaine groaned.

“‘Taine, please,” you whispered. He smiled against your lips, kissing down your jaw and down your neck. He licked your neck, licked the gathered sweat there and moaned. He curled his fingers inside of you, rubbing against a tiny little button that had flashbulbs going off in your mind’s eye. 

You bucked and moaned, back cowing into him. His right hand held you closer, held you to the rapid thumping in his chest. You gripped onto his shirt and grunted, biting down on your lip. 

“There we go. There we go. I bet that shit feel good, don’t it?” Fontaine said against your neck. 

You trembled on his fingers, shivering. You managed to nod. “More, please,” you whispered.

Fontaine chuckled. “Can’t get enough?” He asked.

You shook your head, still panting from an intense orgasm. You could craft entire ballets devoted to Fontaine’s fingers. The same hands he drew life with, he breathed it right back into you. And it turned you on that he was capable of both. Capable of protecting and ending a life with the same breath that told you he loved you.

“You gon’ rethink moving in with me?” He asked.

You snapped your eyes to him and narrowed them. “‘Taine!” You said. You tried to shuffle off of him, but his fingers had never left your pussy. As if remembering that fact with you, he wiggled his fingers against that same nub of nerves and you were groaning and shifting your hips more, almost forgetting what you were upset about.

Fontaine had been asking you to move in with him for some weeks now. You hated seeing the disappointment in his eyes when you turned him down. You hated making him think that you didn’t want to live with him. You did, of course you did. 

But who would look after Kimmy? You already stopped dancing as much as the club, finally falling in with a theater troupe. You saw less of your friend and she grew more distant and resentful of how much time you spent with Fontaine. 

You tried to make her see that you had enough love in your heart to love them both. She only knew love as the way Rusty taught it to her. Forced it on her. She didn’t see love as beautifully as you did. Didn’t know that love only made you love more. Love everything. 

All Kimmy saw was that you were pulling away first. If you moved out, Kimmy was liable to hate you forever. And then you truly would be what she accused you of. Relying too heavily on Fontaine and making your entire world about a man. You may have loved Fontaine, but you always loved you first. 

Moving in with Fontaine at the moment was terrible timing. You weren’t sure what you needed to do to win back one of the bestest friends you’d ever made. You and Kimmy had been through hell together. You were there for her when she had her son. Moved in with her to help with the baby. Studying dances while you consoled her weeping son so that she could get some rest.

You didn’t understand her animosity. And you needed time to figure it out. “Did you only come over here to ask me that shit again?” You asked.

Fontaine shook his head and looked you in the eyes. There was something deeply erotic about looking down into Fontaine’s eyes, seeing the pathetic desperation. The pleading and begging. 

“I know your reasons, but sweetheart, I only want you closer. I’m tired of telling you I miss you. I want to tell you to come home. So I won’t ever have to leave you again,” he said. 

You sighed, kissing his forehead. Fuck. You hated this. You wanted to say yes so badly, but your heart was split in two. You had dueling desires and a pit in your stomach. If you chose wrong, it’d spell the end of a very important relationship in your life. It was becoming abundantly clear that you could only have one. 

“I hate leaving you too,” you said. The mere thought of it had your chest squeezing painfully. Your stomach sinking. You hated feeling sick like that. Hated that dreaded phone call that told you that Fontaine took a bullet and wasn’t ever waking up again.

“Then come home with me, baby. I’m getting closer. I’m earning the guys’ respect like Porter said I need to. Pretty soon, they’ll follow me because of me. Not because Porter favors me. Pretty soon, I’ll be right by his side. And when he passes the business to me, we can run shit how I want,” he said. 

You’d heard this before. This plan that Fontaine cooked up while he was a corner boy. When each of their families blew up and they made the decision to get into gangs, Isaac and Fontaine were immediately snatched up by the Scarlets. Porter took pity on them, his own backstory mirroring theirs. As they got older, the other guys resented how much Porter favored them. Giving them the best assignments, letting them flake whenever they wanted, ordering guys around.

Fontaine volunteered to earn his way. Truly earn it. There would be some that would always see him as someone who was spoon fed. Who was the chosen one to take over the business with Isaac as his number one. But if Fontaine could be ruthless enough, mean enough, tough enough, then he could earn their respect because of who he was as a person. No one else. 

“I’ll think about it, ‘Taine. That’s all you’ll get. Stop pestering me,” you said. You lifted off of him, no longer wanting to be seduced into saying yes. 

Fontaine held on to you, kissing on your neck and chest. “Let me make it up to you for being so annoying. I just wanted you to think about it,” he said.

“Then ask, like a normal person,” you said.

“Sweetheart, I’m never normal whenever it’s with you,” he said. 

Bastard. You sighed, melting into his arms like he knew you would. He was such a cute bastard when he wanted to be, saying or doing something that tore your heart to pieces. He shoved your panties down your legs, instructing you to stand up and remove it completely. Tank top too.

He unbuttoned his pants, the quiet snap sending a quiet thrill through you. He freed his fat dick, smacking it in his palm and telling you to get back on. You hopped back into his lap, scooting up until you were able to kneel up and line his dick up with your entrance. You slowly sank on his dick, crying out. 

You still weren’t used to his size. Used to the way he stretched you completely, filling every inch of you with every inch of him. He groaned with you, sliding you down further and further until he was buried to the hilt. 

“Fuuuck,” you moaned, pussy throbbing against his dick. 

“Fuck, you feel good. Fuck, you feel good,” Fontaine moaned, moving his hands underneath your thighs and moving you up and down. You helped by bouncing on his dick, helping him ram himself inside without mercy. Apologizing with his dick, showing you that he truly was sorry. 

“I’m sorry to pressure you. I just miss you so much, sweetheart. Miss you crying on this dick. Miss talking to you, kissing you, cooking for you, playing with you, tasting you,” Fontaine said. He moved his head to your chest, suckling his two chocolate kisses into his mouth. He alternated, one nipple after the other, until both were aching.

Your stomach clenched, the best ab workout ever to hover like this and get pounded. Your moans were loud and needy, choppy little grunts as you held onto Fontaine for dear life. 

“Let me come over when I’m done tonight. Need to taste that fat pussy again,” he groaned into your chest. He teased one of your nipples with his teeth, rubbing the sensitive bud back and forth and causing you to shiver. 

You were looking forward to one quiet night. That rebellious streak flaring up. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see Fontaine, only that you needed some alone time to reflect on things. Move around without someone hovering. But at the same time, your body craved Fontaine. Needed whatever he was promising in his words. 

You found yourself nodding, enjoying his dick now but looking ahead to what he had planned later. When he didn’t have anywhere else to be for a while and could take his time. Savor your body. And let him savor yours. 

He groaned, dropping his head back to the couch cushion. He was so hot like this. Neck bared. Eyes and jaw slack. Moaning and groaning under you because you felt that damn good. 

Your belly flipped and twitched, getting closer and closer. A knock on the door pulled you out of the bubble you erected with Fontaine. You turned your head, but Fontaine grabbed your chin. He made you look into his eyes. 

“The world and the moon with it, sweetheart. Just look at me. Nothing else. I’m all you need,” he said. He groaned, hips jerking faster as you flooded his dick with your essence. As your whimpers and cries brought tears cascading down your face. You sniffled as you came with a strangled cry, nails digging into his shoulders as you held on and let the orgasm wash all over. 

“That’s my sweetheart, there she is,” Fontaine cooed as he sped up, taking advantage of how wet you were. He pumped a few more times before cumming himself, groaning against your chest as he pulled you closer.

He knocked the breath from your lungs and you choked on your breaths. He could have it all. Every last bit of oxygen if it meant that he’d survive. You didn’t care how that made you sound. You only knew that there was no you without him. 

You panted into each other’s mouths, stealing kisses when you could spare a breath. You moaned into his mouth, wishing there was some other way to thank him. To give him back a tenth of what he gave to you. 

He kissed you a few more times before the knock at your door grew louder, causing a loud ruckus. You smacked your teeth and leaned away from Fontaine.

“You need to tell your friend to watch whose door he’s knocking on like that,” you said. You stuck a thumb over your shoulder as Fontaine sighed, and smacked your ass lightly. 

“He don’t mean nothing,” Fontaine said. You scooted off of him with a huff. You put on your clothes and then hunted for your robe. Isaac made you feel ickier every time you saw him. Like each rung on the ladder that he climbed to more wealth, made him slick. Made him twist his words and meanings.

Fontaine didn’t see it. His childhood loyalty was blinding him to what you saw. What you saw in Isaac’s eyes every time Fontaine kissed or hugged you. He was jealous.  Fontaine listened but ultimately blew you off. He was always going to defend his friend.

Locating your matching pink robe, you crossed your arms. Fontaine looked from you to the front door and sighed. He got up, tucking his softening dick in his pants and zipping himself up. He ducked down to kiss your cheek. 

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. I know it’s tough, but I promise all of this is for you. I’m going to give you that world,” he said.

“I never asked for the fucking world,” you said. 

“But it’s no less than what you deserve, okay?” He said. He didn’t wait for you to finish before stealing a kiss on your lips. He backed away before you could smack him, your worry and nerves making you lash out and pick a fight. 

Fontaine went to the door and opened it. Isaac stood on the other side, whispering something to Fontaine. You asked Fontaine not to tell Isaac that you knew everything. Your grandmother would have called it your family’s gift. A weird sense of intuition that just told you all about a person’s character from interacting with them enough times.

Isaac was firmly in your red flag column. There was something you couldn’t puzzle out about him and it was driving you nuts. 

Fontaine nodded. He turned to look at you. He smirked, his mask firmly back in place now that he was in front of his friends. You blew him a kiss. When you were done, you looked at Isaac who looked at Fontaine like he hated him. He schooled his features by the time Fontaine looked forwards, heading out of your apartment. 

Isaac looked at you, daggers in his eyes, as he closed the door behind him. Your heart was in your throat. Isaac scared you. But you didn’t want to make Fontaine choose like Kimmy wanted you to. You wouldn’t stand between him and his best friend. You only hoped you lived long enough to let Fontaine see it for himself.

You went to your living room window, peeking out of the curtains. Isaac and Fontaine were laughing at something, egging each other on with adding more to the story. Fontaine had fixed his shirt, getting into the passenger seat while Isaac got on the driver’s side. Three large trucks pulled off down the road, the tiny road on Stocker making it impossible for anyone else to get through. 

You sighed and looked at the retreating cars, praying for Fontaine to be okay. You took a shower and got dressed, taking the bus to Culver City. You entered the studio, already coming alive by being here. Fontaine certainly made you feel as if you could fly. But it was also satisfying flying solo. 

You were still part of a group, but you were higher on the call sheet than you were used to. You had more dances to learn and more chances to outshine everyone else and become a lead. To try your hand at acting and really getting noticed. You knew with every fiber in your being that you were going to get what you wanted. You just had to keep doing what you were doing. 

While you were following your dream, Fontaine was following his own version. All the way across to downtown, fighting traffic to get there. 

Mr. Gates held up a hand and leaned over the tape. “Let the record reflect that the next piece is hearsay and not admissible in a recognized court of law.”

He waved for you to continue. You hadn’t expected the interruption but you were grateful for this. For his help. You didn’t want this to blow back on Fontaine if this ever reached someone else. This was intended for your one true love. It’d crush you if someone else heard your words and tried to hurt him with it. 

You collected yourself and took a deep breath. Each tick of the clock was like another tiny nail in your coffin. You pushed through it, keeping your end goal in mind.

“Fontaine told me that it was all Isaac’s idea. He remembered this because it seemed so odd for someone who’s never pulled a trigger,” you explained.

“Man, stop talkin’ about that shit,” Fontaine said and shook his head. Isaac was starting to piss him off. And he didn’t want to ruin the sweet moments he spent with you. Didn’t want anything messing up his buzz from being between your legs. Hearing your voice. Or feeling you clamp down on him like you didn’t want to let him go. 

That’s what he wanted to focus on. Not whatever fucking scheme Isaac had this week. Isaac slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “I’m fuckin’ telling you that Porter is going to get rid of me first chance he gets. I’m not his favorite like you are,” Isaac said.

Fontaine rolled his eyes. Some days he wished that Porter hadn’t taken such an interest in Fontaine and Isaac. He was taught everything he knew, learning the business from Porter’s hip. Isaac resented all of it. He wanted to get in on his own steam. Prove himself.

The problem was, Isaac could never follow through. And now the nigga thought that he could take down Porter on his own. Or more stupidly, with Fontaine’s help. Porter was like a father to them both. Talking about this was giving him a headache and he shook his head. 

“Ain’t you fuckin’ tired of this shit? Being his fuckin’ errand boys? Hopping to whenever that fat fuck snaps his fingers?” Isaac asked.

Fontaine watched the cars whizz by while on the freeway. His thoughts turned to you, to what you were doing. He wished he had enough time to watch you rehearse. He had more free time when he was a corner boy, standing outside in the heat. But this was all for you, whether you knew it or not. He had something to build and he hoped that you had enough trust in him to see it through.

“I don’t wanna hear this shit, Isaac. And you better not let Porter hear it neither. He’s on his way out anyway. He’s a few cinnamon rolls away from a heart attack, alright? There’s no rush,” Fontaine said.

“No rush for you. The other guys think I get special treatment too,” Isaac said. He eased them off of the freeway and headed deep downtown, weaving around until reaching the Scarlet Lounge. 

“So the fuck what? They ain’t gon’ do nothing,” Fontaine said, waving his hand. The other men under Porter were old school as well. Following whoever was paying their bills. None of them had leadership potential, none of them had what it took to take Porter’s place. He didn’t understand where this urgency was coming from. 

“Just think about it, cool?” Isaac asked, pulling around back and closing the door. Fontaine shook his head, getting out of the car and fixing his suit. Getting higher in the organization meant that he had to start dressing the part. He still didn’t feel like a grown up when he wore suits. But he wanted to be taken seriously.

He’d have to stop fucking you in his suits. He had too many wrinkles. But he couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed about it. He slammed the door shut to Isaac’s car and walked up the back of the tall building. Isaac knocked on the back door, giving Fontaine a look that he chose to ignore.

He wasn’t thinking about shit. He was not going to have a hand in killing his boss. The man who saved him. Fontaine would be dead, buried by grief, if Porter hadn’t stepped in. 

The back door swung wide, Stanton, one of the guards looking at them both before waving them in. They were immediately swept up in the hustle and bustle of the Scarlets’ home base. The back door led past the dressing rooms and back rooms. The kitchen and extra storage rooms. The stage was in front of them, stagehands moving around carrying props or sets, or following behind dancers.

You used to work in a place like this. Yours were further west, catering to a different type of crowd. He was secretly glad that you were out of that game. There were too many seedy people that frequented those places and he didn’t want some asshole ogling your body. 

Fontaine led the way to the other side of the club, crossing through the front of the house, and entering the door behind the bar. He took the steps all the way to the top, to Porter’s office. 

The door was open, Porter standing at the window and looking down at the stage. His favorite dancer, Jackie, was practicing on stage. Fontaine wondered what it was about gangsters and pretty girls. What was so appealing about stealing innocence. He may tell you about this life, but you managed to stay the one bright thing in his life. 

He looked up at Fontaine and Isaac entering. He waved for Isaac to shut the door and he did. 

“‘Bout fuckin’ time, boys. Got a job for you,” Porter said. He wobbled back to his desk, his weight making him waddle side to side. He sighed as he got back in his chair, the metal groaning from the weight. 

Fontaine sat down on the sofa underneath the windows. Isaac chose the seat in front of Porter’s desk. He crossed his legs and got comfortable while Fontaine stretched his arms across the couch cushion. 

“I need you to oversee a shipment today. I’ve been hearing some whispers about it when no one should know about this shit,” Porter said. 

“We’re not runners anymore,” Isaac said.

“What’s with the attitude, you little shit?” Porter asked, puffing his cheeks out at Isaac. He squinted at him, seemingly waiting for a response. Fontaine’s pulse beat in his veins. He didn’t know what Isaac would do. If he was talking about killing the man, would he do it here? Would he try to kill Fontaine too? Would he kill everyone in this place?

Would he spare Fontaine? Would others think he had something to do with it if he was spared? Fontaine hated that he was now technically complicit since Isaac told him. He didn’t know what Isaac would do at any given moment and it made him nervous to ride around with him.

Maybe you were right. Maybe there was something wrong with his best friend. He looked at Isaac’s side profile, at the way his jaw clenched as he stared at Porter. When Isaac didn’t say anything, Porter huffed.

“I need extra eyes on this since Shayne thinks he can encroach on my territory,” Porter said. He pulled a file from his desk and tossed it across his desk. Isaac stood up and grabbed it, sitting down with it as he perused it. 

“I’ve got the pigs covered. Cameras will go down while you’re moving it. I need an extra car. Take whoever you need to, but ensure that that package reaches its destination like it’s supposed to,” Porter said. 

Fontaine nodded. They were dismissed. They got up, heading out of the office. Isaac handed Fontaine the folder. There was the list of names of who was on it, the police they bought off, the streets they were supposed to take. 

Safely down in the front, Isaac tapped Fontaine’s shoulder. “He’s got us doing this shit like we’re back on the street running his drugs. C’mon man. You like being ordered around like this?” 

Fontaine’s head swiveled around the club, at the work staff working to get the place ready for the night. There was no one looking their way. “Stop talking about that shit. Are you trynna get us killed? Whatever the hell you’re thinking, stop it. I don’t want any parts of it,” Fontaine said.

“I’m not the only one feeling like this. You say the word, ‘Taine, and we’ll follow you. A lot of us are tired of being under his thumb,” Isaac said. He looked at Fontaine and then snorted. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you. You’re so busy buried in pussy, you forget why we signed up for this in the first place. So that no one could ever tell us what to do again.”

Fontaine shoved Isaac into the wall. “Keep her out of your fucking mouth,” Fontaine said. His mind was spinning, reeling. He knew that his head was so completely wrapped up into you that he let some things slide. Lost track of the day to day as he focused on the distribution of the drugs that Isaac ensured crossed customs. They worked as a team all this time. But now, it was like looking at a fun house mirror version of Isaac. It had his face and it spoke with his voice, but this was something different. Somebody possessed his friend. 

“If you’re not going to join us, we’re moving without you. Tonight will be the last night that Porter Sommer runs this town,” Isaac said. He shoved Fontaine away and then left the building, leaving Fontaine to reluctantly follow after.

He felt sick. He felt like he needed to puke. How could he choose between them? Why was Isaac making him choose? If he ratted Isaac out, Porter was going to kill him. If he went along with Isaac, he’d be losing Porter and becoming an enemy of the Scarlets. Loyalty was everything to him. 

He climbed in the car like a zombie, following Isaac, unsure of what to do. Why the fuck would he spring this on him tonight. 

“Why are you doing this, Isaac?” Fontaine asked. He needed all of the facts before he could make his decision. 

“I’m getting the life I’ve always deserved. I’ve done everything for that, nigga. Everything he fucking asked. And who does he choose to take his place, you?” Isaac snorted. “You’re head’s on backwards because of that girl. You’re not fit to lead any fucking body.” 

Fontaine laughed, but it was harsh and quick. No mirth whatsoever. “I’m the one who pulled the triggers while you sat there and sobbed like a little bitch,” Fontaine said. He shook his head. This was some unbelievable shit. He had to think. He had to find a way to save Isaac’s dumb ass. He only wished he could find a way to save him and his relationship with Porter.

Sweat poured down your neck as you ran through rehearsal once more. The lead kept fucking up, doing her own thing instead of listening to the director. If he wasn’t so busy burying his dick in her, he’d see that she was a talentless hack. 

Your ego would always get the better of you, as you groaned and turned around to walk to your starting point. 

“Got a problem?” The lead, Christa, said and placed her hands on her hips. You turned around to see who the hell she was talking to. She was flanked by a few of the friends she made in the troupe, turning the gathered people into an “us” versus “them” situation. 

You crossed your arms. “Yeah, learn the damn dance,” you said.

A few of the others laughed, but looked away when Christa leveled them with a stare. She walked closer, her long thin legs crossing the space in no time. She stopped before she got into your personal space.

“You always think you’re so funny,” she said. 

“No, I just talk a lot of shit. And people happen to agree with me,” you said. You looked her up and down. She was a joke. All those looks and she couldn’t manage to learn something besides kicking her feet and smiling. And her singing was even fucking worse. 

“You’re a joke. You think you could do any better?” She asked.

You smirked. “I know I can. Anytime you wanna be embarrassed, let me know,” you said.

“What the hell is going on?” The director, Arthur, climbed onto the stage. He shoved his way through the gathering crowd and stopped when he saw that it involved his sex toy and you. He looked between you, smacking his lips with an impatient huff.

“Get back to your positions, now,” he said.

“She just threatened to hurt me. She said she was going to break my legs before show time,” Christa said, leaning into Arthur. She was decidedly taller than the man, but managed to make herself seem like a victim. She hunched her shoulders and grabbed Arthur’s arm, looking at him. 

Arthur sniffed in your direction. “I had heard about how difficult you were and I was reluctant to take you in. I knew you wouldn’t fit into our troupe but I was willing to give you a chance,” he said.

You reared back, looking from Christa to Arthur. “Are you fucking serious? You’re going to believe her lies? Not even ask if it’s true?” You asked. 

The audacity of it all. Heat burrowed in your chest, pressure building with how angry you got. That white hot anger was coursing through you, bubbling under the surface. You were close to exploding like a volcano. Ready to knock all this shit over.

“Why would she lie about something like that? God, I should have listened when David said not to hire you. But the donation from your little boyfriend…”

“Wait, what?” You asked. 

Christa’s face turned more smug, looking at you as she stood behind Arthur. “Tell her, baby,” she cooed in his ear. 

Arthur folded his arms and sighed. “Fontaine made a donation to the theater to ensure that you’re happy here. I didn’t want to take the money but we needed it. But that does not mean that you can do whatever you want or threaten whoever you’d like,” he said. 

Your eyes bugged out of your head. Fontaine paid for you to be here? Tears stung your eyes but you refused to give these bastards the satisfaction. You held your head up high and squared your shoulders. 

“If that’s the case, then fine. Believe whatever you want. This is a terrible play you chose, you’re a suck ass director, and no amount of pussy will help you become a better one. You’re always going to be several degrees separated from Broadway and with good reason,” you spat at Arthur. Fuck him and his racist bullshit. You didn’t need this. 

Your anger bubbled over, chest heaving. Your eyes were itchy, but you willed the tears not to fall. Willed your tongue to speak true and strong. “And no amount of sucking dick is going to make you a better dancer or singer. This play is going to fail and I’m glad I’m out of here before opening night,” you said. You stormed past Arthur, catching the looks from other people.

Some were on your side, giving you thumbs up and smiles. Others were looking at you like you were crazy. Christa gaped at you while Arthur sputtered. You stopped near Arthur and looked at Christa on the other side of him.

“I hope her pussy was worth it. When my boyfriend gets done with this place, you’ll never work again. I’m pretty sure that donation came with terms you just violated,” you said.

Arthur turned wide eyes towards you. “Please don’t tell him. We can work something out. I can make you lead,” he said. 

“Hey!” Christa said, smacking his shoulder. Arthur paid her no mind as a cruel smirk twisted your lips. 

“I hope he buries you under this place so I can tap dance on your grave,” you whispered to him and then got off of the stage. You grabbed your dance bag, slung it over your shoulders, and then stormed out of the doors. 

You let the tears fall. Big hiccuping sobs that made your chest ache. You thought…you thought you were finally on your way. You worked so hard this past year. Why would he do this? Why would he interfere in something you were adamant about doing on your own terms? 

His betrayal was like a knife in your heart. Did he not believe in you? All this time, had he been lying? Pretending to be interested in your dancing? You believed everything he said up until now. But was that merely a ploy? What was his end game? 

You didn’t know when you’d see him again. He texted you saying that he had something important to do tonight and now wasn’t sure if he’d see you after. He was going to try his hardest of course. Now, you weren’t so sure you wanted to see him. If you saw him right now, you were going to kill him. 

You waited for the bus, stewing in how humiliated you felt. How someone like Christa could bypass all of your hard work by making some idiot feel good every night. It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be this fucking insidious. 

You made it home in a blur of tears, your door swimming in front of your face. You sniffled, finally able to truly break down since you were at home. Free and clear, you closed the door behind you and then slid down the door, wracking cries shaking your shoulders. 

Kimmy walked into the kitchen and spotted you, face buried in your hands. Your tears were hot, making your face scrunch up as you cried. Your mind screamed that Fontaine wouldn’t do something like this. Wouldn’t go against your wishes. Wouldn’t intervene when you told him countless times that it wouldn’t count unless you were able to do it yourself.

She crossed the room, asking what’s wrong, and pulling you into her arms. You cried on her shoulder and told her through hard tears of what happened. She stroked your back and then helped you off of the floor. 

You had no clue what you were going to do to Fontaine the next time you saw him.

You stopped here and swiped at your tears. That was one of the first blows to your relationship with Fontaine. At the moment, it got lost in everything that followed. You weren’t able to tell Fontaine exactly how much it hurt you that he betrayed you in such a way. 

Mr. Gates stopped the recorder and handed you some tissue. You blew your nose, apologizing for being gross.

“That’s quite alright. Tears do the soul some good,” he said. 

You chuckled. “I don’t know about all that, Mr. Gates,” you said. You drank some water that he provided earlier. You looked down at the recorder. “Do you think he’ll listen to it? To any of it?” 

Mr. Gates leaned back in his seat. His charcoal suit looked good on the old man. It reminded you of Fontaine, at how he started to look forward to wearing suits. To how dignified he liked looking. 

“He will. If he wants to find you after,” he said.

“He might kill you for this,” you said. 

Mr. Gates smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about me, young lady,” he said. He smiled patiently but still. You warned him of the risks of putting this in motion and he still helped you. You didn’t know how Fontaine was going to react to this tape. You only hoped he got to the end. 

You took another sip of water and then swiped at your eyes. You nodded to Mr. Gates and he started the recorder again. 

Fontaine blew warm air into his hands as he stood on the docks in San Pedro, waiting for the shipment to come in with Porter’s important package. Isaac had been silent next to him, standing as if the cold didn’t bother him at all. 

Hours later, Fontaine was no closer to how he was going to protect both Isaac and Porter. There had to be something. This night couldn’t end how Isaac hoped. He was diving head first into something they wouldn’t be able to take back. 

“Does it have to be tonight? Can you give me a few days?” Fontaine asked.

Isaac looked at Fontaine out of the corners of his eyes and rolled his shoulders. “Porter will be distracted tonight. All eyes are on this shipment. He has a skeleton crew over at the Lounge right now. We won’t get another chance like this,” Isaac said. 

Fontaine cursed under his breath. A light flickered in the distance, signaling that their ship was finally coming in. They watched the little dot approach, getting bigger the closer it got. 

“Dammit Isaac, this ain’t right,” Fontaine said.

Isaac shrugged. “Dog eat dog world, my nigga. If we don’t act now, we’re always gonna be under that fat fuck. He’s gonna order us around until he ninety, wanting us to wipe his ass. It’s time for the Scarlets to show some strength. Shayne’s bitch ass out there taunting us,” Isaac said.

Fontaine eyed the wild look in Isaac’s eyes. This was about more than getting from underneath Porter. Isaac had always been a hot head, reacting instead of taking his time to think things through. Porter could make Isaac feel inferior all he wanted, but Isaac just wanted this for himself. He wanted to be the one that the men took orders from.

Now their talks over the past few months made sense. Isaac had to be planning this for a long time. Had to cook this up with like-minded people. Plotting without Fontaine’s knowledge. Because he wasn’t sure which side Fontaine would fall on. 

Fontaine grinded his teeth as the ship came in. Porter’s boys started unloading the drug shipment. It was a new drug Porter wanted to introduce. A longer high with worse symptoms on the come down. Fontaine looked around, feeling like it was a little too quiet. 

There was an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn’t quite reach. He put his hand on his gun, looking around. Something didn’t fucking feel right. He nudged Isaac and jerked his head, made Isaac go to the other side of the truck to keep an eye on the shipment.

Fontaine glanced around, pulling his gun all the way out. He scanned the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There were just the overhead lights, casting a harsh pale light over the boardwalk. The water rumbled beneath and there was a distant bell in the breeze. Mist rolled in off of the ocean but he still couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. 

The shot rang out and pinged next to his head. Fontaine ducked, calling out for everyone to look out. The shots continued, focusing on him by the sound of it. He ducked down, running behind the nearest docked boat.

He looked over the edge. There was a flash coming from the tree line. Fontaine aimed for it. He must have hit something because the flashes stopped, only to start coming from another point. There was yelling and gunshots rang out, going back and forth. 

Fontaine cursed. He was too far away from the shipment. He wasn’t sure how far along they were or if everything was already packed up. 

“Isaac!” Fontaine yelled.

“Good! We got everything!” Isaac called back. 

“Get to the drop point!” Fontaine yelled out. He stood up and let off a few more shots, the gun heavy in his hand. Adrenaline rushed through him, making his hand shake but he had to focus. 

“I’m not leaving you!” Isaac yelled.

“Fucking do it!” He yelled back. Metal pinged next to his head and he dropped down further. He needed to move. He ducked and ran, hoping against all hope that he’d make it. He ran towards the cars, ducking as bullets pinged all around him.

“You stupid fuck! I said go!” Fontaine yelled. He pointed his gun behind him, pointing towards the tree line and unloaded. Sirens sounded off in the distance. They needed to leave right this second. 

Fontaine hopped into Isaac’s truck. Isaac started it, reversing and following the drive to the parking lot and then out of the docks. The trucks squealed down the streets, splitting up to confuse the people pursuing them.

Fontaine reloaded his gun, slamming his hand on the dash. “Fuck! I told you to fucking go,” he yelled at Isaac. Isaac blew past freshly turned red lights, honking at other cars as he got on the 405 freeway. 

“I wasn’t leaving you!” Isaac yelled. He looked over at Fontaine. “You’re my brother, nigga.” 

Fontaine growled and hit the dash again, looking behind him for anyone pursuing them. They seemed to be okay now. There were always cars on the 405 freeway, but this time of night didn’t lend itself to many cars. Isaac easily floored it, speeding along the freeway and as far away from the scene as possible. 

Isaac blew past Hawthorne, continuing on the freeway. “Where are you going?” Fontaine asked.

“It’s time we finished this. I’m sorry, but I need you on this one. I won’t make it if you don’t help me,” he said. 

“Turn the car around, Isaac,” Fontaine said.

Isaac shook his head, gripping the steering wheel harder. He said nothing more as they traveled, the sound of the road the only thing keeping them company. Fear gripped Fontaine’s heart the closer they got to downtown, switching to the 110 for the rest of the way. 

Fontaine’s fingers turned numb as they got closer to the Lounge. “Isaac, you don’t need to do this,” Fontaine said.

“Yes, I do. Sick of that motherfucker laughing at us, man. Living large on the fucking money we made for him. While we run around hustling for every dollar we got,” he said. He shook his head. “Shit ain’t right, ‘Taine, and you know that.” 

“We have more than we could ever spend, Isaac. This ain’t it,” Fontaine said. 

“It’s him or me, ‘Taine,” he said. He pulled around the back of the Lounge. The place was busy, music spilling out onto the street through the open door. 

Fontaine’s heart jumped as Isaac made his way inside. Fontaine looked at the other guards, the other men who swore to follow Porter. Because they were close to Porter, they were not impeded as they went through the backstage area, moved around fluttering dancers and haphazard stage hands. 

They crossed the main room, behind important business men and the clueless average person who wanted to see a good show. Isaac made a beeline for Porter’s office. Fontaine grabbed his arm. 

“Don’t do this shit,” Fontaine pleaded one last time. Isaac looked at him, nothing but determination in his eyes. He shrugged off Fontaine. 

“Stay here, Fontaine. It’ll be okay,” he said.

He turned and went up the stairs to Porter's office. Fontaine flirted with the idea of letting Isaac go. Of letting Porter kill Isaac and spend his time explaining that he had no idea. No clue. Spent his time proving his loyalty by rooting out anyone loyal to Isaac and killing them too. Buying his innocence with the blood of his friends. 

One person. Or the lives of many. The bloodbath that would ensue. The infighting. The betrayal. Not being able to trust the next person. But he couldn’t lose his friend either. Couldn’t stand by and let his friend do something stupid.

He took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he heard yelling and arguing. When he entered the office, Isaac had his gun pointed at Porter. 

“The fuck is this, Fontaine? You in on this shit too?” Porter asked and then dug into his steak. Blood seeped out of the steak as he cut into it and Fontaine’s stomach turned. Porter acted like he wasn’t in mortal danger. 

“I wasn’t in this shit,” Fontaine said. He looked to Isaac. “Put that shit down!” 

Isaac’s hand trembled as he looked at Porter. He shook violently as he stared at the big man. “I did everything for you, you sick fuck,” Isaac said.

Porter chuckled. “It’s always some ungrateful mu’fucka like you. Someone who looks at what I got and forgets why I’m sitting in this chair, and your ass is on the street. You remember when I found you? Covered in your own shit, sleeping underneath a trash can lid?” Porter laughed around a bite of steak and potatoes.

Isaac’s grip tightened on the silver beretta, pointed right at Porter’s head. “You were a punk ass kid then, with your little hand out every time you wanted something. But ‘Taine? Heh. Fontaine got something you can’t teach. He’s got a ruthlessness you’ll never possess,” Porter said.

“All you do is pit us together. Like we’re some fucked up version of Cain and Abel, playing some fucked up game in your head,” Isaac said. 

“I needed to see which one of you had enough balls to take my place. ‘Taine will make a wonderful boss. You? Heh. I’ll be surprised your nappy headed ass makes it out of here alive,” Porter said. 

Isaac stepped forward, gripping the gun with both hands. “Issac, no!” Fontaine yelled, stepping closer. Isaac swung the gun towards Fontaine.

“Stay there and don’t interfere, ‘Taine!” Isaac yelled.

This was like a nightmare. He was watching his best friend fall apart. And he hadn’t been here. Hadn’t listened, not truly. He would never regret a single moment he spent with you, but he did feel shame about letting Isaac slip through the cracks. 

“Fucking Mr. Perfect. You always get everything don’t you? You get the job, the money, the girl. All of it.” 

Fontaine held up his hands, trying to placate Isaac. “Isaac, we’re boys. What the fuck?” He asked. 

Isaac wiped the sweat off of his brow on his forearm. He was shaking, blinking too much, and swinging the gun between Fontaine and Porter. “You’ve been by my side all this time. You’re telling me your ass has been jealous of me? Like whatever is mine isn’t already yours? If you needed money…”

Isaac laughed, spit flying from his mouth. “Needed money! The shit I needed would’ve robbed the world blind.” 

Fontaine cursed. “You back on that gambling shit?” Fontaine cursed some more, disappointment bleeding through his tone. He was there the last time Isaac got into a giant hole. The people he owed money to were threatening to break his kneecaps if Isaac didn’t pay up. Fontaine helped Isaac get clean, taking him to meetings when he could. When did he slip? 

“Who do you owe money to, Isaac?” Fontaine asked, dreading the answer.

“I thought if I went to Shayne’s hall, I wouldn’t be recognized. I had been feeling lucky,” Isaac said.

Fontaine cursed again. “Feeling lucky. You can’t fucking gamble, nigga!” Fontaine yelled. Isaac had the worst luck. Constantly going for the longshot. There was no strategy. He just had a burning need to keep going because he could hit at any moment. A broken clock had to be right twice a day but not Isaac. It was nothing but a rash of losses. The rare time he did win, he used it as an excuse that his luck was turning around.

Porter laughed. “Fucking addict. You went to Shayne? To our biggest enemy? You’re lucky they didn’t shoot your ass when you first walked into the hall,” Porter said and laughed. He shifted in his seat. 

“Isaac, damn,” Fontaine said. 

“I’m in too deep, ‘Taine. He said to get square, I had to kill Porter. Or he’ll kill my family,” Isaac said. He turned pleading eyes to Fontaine. To his brother. Fontaine didn’t know what to do. 

He’d failed. He failed his best friend. He didn’t see any of this. Had no earthly clue. He looked at Porter who squinted at Isaac. He moved his hand while Isaac was busy looking at Fontaine. 

“I didn’t know what to do,” Isaac said. Sounding small. Sounding like the little kid who had his back on the streets. 

Porter lifted his hand. Fontaine grabbed his gun and shot Porter to protect Isaac. Music thumped down below. The office was soundproof, so that Porter could still do business while he watched the dance routines below. Watched the money rake in. 

Isaac turned his body, aiming his gun at Porter. Porter was slumped over his desk, blood pooling and mixing with the blood of the steak. Isaac sighed, heavy gulps of air loud in the room. He turned wide eyes to Fontaine.

“‘Taine, thank you,” Isaac said, wiping his eyes. He lowered his gun and looked between Fontaine and Porter’s dead body. “Thank you.”

Fontaine sniffed and looked at his gun, at the wisps of smoke escaping. Isaac was thanking him for killing the first man who ever gave a damn about him. He swallowed the huge lump in his throat and lifted his gun and squeezed the trigger.

Isaac’s shocked face was horrific as the bullet went neat through his forehead. He crumpled to the floor, blood pooling onto the dark carpet. 

The keening whine in Fontaine’s ears was actually coming from himself. He watched the blood seep into the floor as his best friend was dead. Dead by his own hands. He shivered, freezing cold all of a sudden.

He lowered his hand to his side and looked around the office. The blood spatter. The two bodies. He had no clue how he was going to explain this shit. No clue how he was going to clean it up. 

He stood there for a while, crying. He hadn’t cried since he was on the streets, crying for something to eat and not understanding why someone wouldn’t help a starving kid. He knew he was on his own when his mom retreated further into herself and didn’t give a shit if her sons ate. He knew then that he would always be on his own and would always have to fend for himself. 

His thoughts turned to you. That you’d know what to do somehow, even though this wasn’t your world. He’d greedily brought you in, wanting you for himself. Believing that you were owed to him like some stupid prize from all of the hard work he put in. He was so damn selfish. 

And selfish still because he didn’t want to give you up. Now that Isaac was gone, dead, you were all he had left in this world. Would you judge him for this? Would this be your final straw? 

He promised never to lie to you but he’d never been tempted before now. He didn’t want you to stop looking at him like he mattered. Like you loved him. He didn’t want you to stop loving him for being a monster. 

He took a deep breath, committing to what he had to do next. He used his phone to alert whoever was on duty that Porter was dead and Isaac was the one who did it. 

You cried yourself to sleep. You woke up with a deep sense that something wasn’t right. You lifted up in bed. Kimmy was asleep in her bed behind you, at your request not to leave you alone. You felt groggy and terrible, achy all over. Your face was puffy and sore. You hated crying, but you did feel slightly better about it.

You weren’t a stranger to having your dreams dashed yet again. You would find a way through it. After you got done beating Fontaine’s ass. 

You got out of bed and checked on her son. He was sleeping soundly in his toddler bed, chubby fingers pressed close to his mouth. You closed the door and then headed to the kitchen. You turned on the light above the stove so you had enough light to see by. 

You warmed up some tea, pulling the hot kettle off of the base as it clicked when done. You poured the steaming water in your cup, still feeling like shit. You needed a shower. You were gross and you wanted to wash today off of your hands.

You blew on the mug and moved to sit at the kitchen table when there was a knock on the door. You stood back up, padding over to the door. The only person who would dare swing by right now would be Fontaine. He was lucky that Kimmy’s son was here, otherwise you’d wake up the whole neighborhood with your screaming.

You looked out of the peephole just in case. Fontaine stood there, leaning against the door frame with his head held low. He grew his hair out even more, telling you that he was thinking about growing locs. 

You opened the door and quietly opened the door. The rare cool air hit your exposed legs in your nightgown as you stared at Fontaine. He lifted his head when you opened the door. The speech you prepared died on your tongue as you took in the haunted look in his eyes. 

He was still wearing the blue suit he wore earlier, much more disheveled and blood spattered on him. His face fell when he looked into your eyes. He grabbed you and pulled you into a hug, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply.

“‘Taine, what’s wrong?” You asked. 

He held on more and you maneuvered underneath him to close the door behind him. You stood there, taking on the majority of his weight as he sobbed on your shoulder. It was scary seeing Fontaine cry on your shoulder. Whatever it was, it made your own fear rise the longer he quietly sobbed.

You pulled him into the living room and made him sit down. You grabbed the whiskey bottle from the pantry, bringing it to the living room with a shot glass. You poured Fontaine a glass. He drank three before he calmed down enough to start telling you what happened.

He wouldn’t look you in the eye as he spoke. You grabbed his hand and squeezed as he recounted everything that took place when he left your house. How Isaac had been acting differently, more distant. Lying more often. Fontaine blamed himself for not seeing the signs. For not checking in on his friend.

“Someone else’s habit is not your fault. Isaac was intentionally keeping it from you. Because he knew that you would make him stop,” you said.

Fontaine shook his head. “It was my job to take care of him. I promised I would,” he said. 

You scooted closer to Fontaine on the couch. You snuggled into his side and kissed his cheek. “You did everything you could, baby. Isaac made his choice. He had plenty of chances to ask for your help,” you said. 

“I shot my best friend, sweetheart. I don’t know how to live with that,” he said. 

You wanted to ease his pain. The way you felt betrayed earlier paled in comparison to Fontaine killing his best friend. This was not how you thought today would end up. You and Fontaine were supposed to be at the top of your game. 

He would still get an earful, but it wouldn’t be right now. You helped Fontaine to his feet and walked him to your room. You stripped him of his shoes and clothes, tucking him into bed. You slipped in behind him and held him while he cried himself to sleep. 

You yawned, getting sleepier as you remembered all of those emotions as if it were fresh in your mind. That night had been rough. The subsequent nights that followed were rough. The transition of the Scarlets to Fontaine’s control was bad all around.

Some refused to believe Fontaine’s version of events. But since there were only three people in the room, two now dead, they had no choice but to follow Fontaine. They called him Kingkiller behind his back but he never let them know it fazed him. He let them believe the myth so that they wouldn’t try to test him like Isaac tried to do to Porter. 

Your mind drifted thinking of that time. Even as you recount everything, you weren’t sure where it started. Was it when he asked you to be his girlfriend? When he took you on all of those dates? When he kissed you at the fair? Was it when you bumped into him outside of the theater, facing another rejection? Another door in your face. Another person believing that you were nothing but scum under their shoe. 

Whenever it was, it started you down this dark path. Facing your imminent death with dread in your belly. You hated the waiting part. Hated that all you could do was sit here and count the days. Sit here and get your affairs in order. Move around your money, getting your family together. 

You wanted to have everything taken care of. So that when you left this world, you left it better than when you entered it. That you touched enough people’s hearts, lived as wildly as you could, lived as freely as you could. That somewhere deep down, Fontaine wouldn’t hate you when you were gone. 

Whew! There's always more! The Secret Tyrone Files | Part 1

[dinosaurvalley]

fuck it. my name is dinosaurvalley. im making a big post of my ideal revamped dinosaur valley

ok so first off, the vibe is already immaculate. the thunder and howling wind is essential. the fucking, tinkling noises? the little crystal-y shiny noises i could do without. but whatever

the kallstone. there should be more of it. there should be places where you can see it poking out of the ground, maybe not a lot and only in remote areas but it should be there

there was an expedition to the valley in 1912. something called the great collapse happened. nic says he’ll tell me more another time and i dont have great memory, so if he ever explained then i dont know. but i think there should be evidence of the expedition somewhere. old busted up structures or something.

there NEEDS to be a fucking building. the outdoor cafe and lean to for the horses is fucking killing me. and the shops need to have stores, AND THE SHOP OWNERS NEED TO HAVE WARM CLOTHES. i know they sell warm stuff but nobody is dressed for the damn weather!!! no immersion! berzelius the engineer is in a skirt!

the kallters shouldnt have fjords. why on earth do the kallters have fjords. i know theyre all gone but bring the kallters back and give them their own jwh variant.

hollow woods made me think of this, but they need to make more cold (not holiday, cold) themed magic horses and let them roam around the area. i know only one place does this but come on it would be perfect. not too many though

related to that, when did they add foxes to the valley of frozen mist?? no opinion on that just when did it happen

there should be a ranger station for alien research next to the main hub building or down the road or something. dont clutter the area too much, but just give it some more stuff to do or see. maybe a couple more races. give it a home stable too

those ice huts??? add more of them. love those things. are they yeti houses? no idea. but i want more.

that ice hook area? 10/10, only one note, make the back of the area more giant cliffs so it doesnt look like a ridge that can be climbed over really easily. idk why it looks like that. its goofy

for the love of god, hide the dinosaur. its called the valley of the hidden dinosaur. hide the fucking dinosaur. put it in frozen mist valley or have it sticking partially out of the mountains. please just… hide the dinosaur. and also its not even a fucking dinosaur

add more fossils? like there are tons of well known prehistoric marine animals. add some fuckoff massive ammonites in the walls. have orthoceras fossils sticking up out of the ground. schools of fish in the ground. trilobites. sorry i just started thinking about prehistoric animals again what was i talking about

igor and frank einstein? perfect. no notes. keep them. also the frozen vet. keep her.

upgrade nic stoneground. make him a dilf. do it sse come on d (i am forcibly removed)

[livelaughlovesubs]

Lost-nut enlightenment sjdbbdhdhd I'm fuckin wheezing but you're so real for that

If hoyo didn't want me to Dom him then too bad, any male character can be Dommed if you're not a coward.

Deadass when I saw his leaks and saw the headphones I was like "oh, he's probably partially deaf and those are in-game's equivalent of hearing aids, that's pretty neat. He seems like he's either going to be overly friendly or I'm going to want to punch him type of personality"

And damn hoyo tried to portray him as this cool lone wolf scholarly guy who wants to understand everything about Teyvat that's aloof and blunt and a majority of the fandom looked at him (me included), especially after he mentioned that his headphones have noise cancelation, plus the stories about him going the Akademiya as a little kid and went "autism/neuro divergent havin ass 🫵😶" and they're so right for that. Literally nothing about him is neuro typical and I think it's neat.

He's such a dork, bro thinks he can hurt my feelings by being blunt he's not ready for me to take one good and psychoanalyze him. This is how we flirt, others are horrified but this man is literally the horny grip meme because I just know he'd be turned on by you doing something that shows off how smart you are.

I just remembered that his headphones can record lectures.

Nini, imagine recording JoI for him on a separate headphone set, general dirty talk, etc for when you gotta be away because you just know he'd be too stubborn to openly admit that he misses the sound of your voice.

He's so pathetic bless we really eating good

I'm trying not to spam your inbox with the rambling of madman but I'm just so happy to have fellow Doms to gush about subby men with since it's hard to find each other

-🐇

Nah it’s alright, I don’t mind. Also I noticed that was a typo- I wanted to write post-but enlightenment Ahahhahah

But the thing with the headphones? 10/10 would write. I’ll do it once my kinktober stuff are done. Imagine recording his own noises during smexy time without him knowing, and making some alternations to his headphones so that we can change whatever he’s listening to something else.

Then just jumpscare him with his own lewd moans and whimpers. At first he’d be so confused, like who’s this weird ass dude with the high pitched voice of a girl? Is it even a guy? Until he hears your voice, and the words you uttered were so familiar.

As soon as he notices that these sounds were in fact, he himself, god the embarrassment and lust swelling inside him would be 📈📈

I think he’d blush and smirk to himself, scaring basically any poor souls who had the unfortunate fate of witnessing such a scene.

[freyito]

ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ & ᴋᴇɴꜱʜɪ ᴛᴀᴋᴀʜᴀꜱʜɪ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜱɪᴄᴋ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

guess whos getting sick.... yippee!! i like never get sick and when i do im like completely OUT. rn it's just a sore throat and a kind of cough but it's been getting worse all day so i figured i'd get this out and donesies with before i cant even leave my bed lol

cw: gn reader, just fluff, JEWISH JOHNNY (hes jewish and you arent gonna tell me otherwise), not proofread

⎯ Johnny Cage

Johnny does not care that you could possibly get him sick, he is all over you. Like not once does he leave your side. And if he has to? Then he's just picking you up and taking you with him. Even if you complain that you wanna stay in bed.

He's got a weeks worth of takeout planned. All your favorite comfort food, something cold for your throat, something warm, too. And he's always got a nice, cold bottle of water for you. He's very intent on you staying hydrated.

We all know he can't cook. But this man has ONE (1) thing he actually can make without messing up. Two words. Jewish. Penicillin. Good ol' Matzoh Ball Soup. Guaranteed to cure you (don't take his word). And it's damn good. It's the perfect temperature, and it runs down your throat so smoothly that it- for once- doesn't feel like sandpaper. It's bliss. Pure damn bliss.

Of COURSE you're gonna end up cuddled up on the couch or in bed, watching some sort of movie or show. It's Johnny Cage. But, he also just likes talking with you. Or, to you. He doesn't want you to lose your voice, now. He'll ramble on and on about cinema, history- literally any, but of course he's a bit partial to Sento and the Taira clan specifically.-, and physics, science, yada yada.

And he talks and talks for days on end. Until you get better. But who am I kidding, he talks then, too. And when you finally get better, it's actually a miracle that Johnny isn't sick. But he's even more clingy, after.

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

Unlike Johnny, Kenshi knows to give you space. Doesn't mean he isn't right by you the entire time, though. He's constantly checking your temperature, checking in on you in general. Do you need anything? How about a warm bath? Something to eat? Water? It's a constant stream of questions. He's just so worried about you, even if it is just a common cold.

He does order takeout as well, but it usually just amounts to soups and what not, he's kind of hellbent on making sure you eat the right foods and not something that could even make the cold slightly worse. He'll let popsicles slide, though... just no icecream. Hell no.

About that bath... Kenshi puts his heart and soul into it, for whatever reason. Epsom salt, some vitamin C bath foam, maybe some petals just to make it a little fancy. Oh, he's got it all. He wants to make sure you're at the height of relaxation.

Music and Audiobooks. He's got then playing, unless you ask for silence. Of course, he plays them kinda softly. He's a bit afraid of you getting a headache. It offers some sort of mental stimulation, though, while your huddled up in bed. He wants to make sure you don't feel bored while you're sick.

And once you're better... he's got so much laundry done. Like the very moment you're all energized and feeling better, he's like "oh the dryers done!". Kenshi wants to make sure there's no risk of you getting sick again, and to be honest, he pampers you a little extra, too.

© freyito, 2023 | masterlist | queue | kofi DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[pure-oddity]

Gifts and Well Wishes

Content: very fluffy!! brief hint at nsfw, so MDNI(this is an 18+ blog anyway yall shouldn't be here regardless), Simon's Pov

He feels a weight settle on his chest and awareness hits him quickly. He keeps his breathing level while he listens to the weight mutter under her breath , something about him being built like a slab of concrete. He slits his eyes open to see her sat on his chest, a brownie in hand - little waxy candle in the middle.

Almost laughs as he watches her struggle to light the damn thing. Snorts when she swears at it. Her eyes flick up and she grins at him, "don't fuckin laugh at me! This thing won't light!"

Watches like a lazy cat as she flicks the lighter on over and over, moves a hand to take over when she finally gets it. She's humming a tune at him as he caresses the soft skin of her leg. He realizes it's happy birthday.

"Okay big guy, blow this thing out and make a wish - preferably before I drop it and burn down our home." And the candle lit brownie is lowered towards his face.

He pinches his tongue between his thumb and pointer finger, and snuffs the light out between spit slick fingers.

"You-! Ah whatever, I'm sure whoevers in charge of granting birthday wishes won't mind that you didn't blow it out." She waves a hand passively and removes the still smoking candle.

"Thought we celebrated already?" He watches as she places it in her cup of water on her side of the bed. Makes a mental note to replace it for her.

"Nope! Yoooouu said you didn't want a party or a surprise, so we didn't have one." She reminded.

"Hung out with the boys at the pub." He countered.

"That was just something fun to do, not a party. If it were a party we would have had cake and they woulda brought you gifts - maybe asked the staff to sing!" She insisted, tone musing as if she could picture it.

"Thank fuck that wasn't a party then." He snorts. He can imagine it too. The idea ends with himself getting up and walking out mid song.

"And because it's just me and I got you a brownie instead of cake - it's still not a party" she's clearly anticipated his responses. If it were anyone else he'd be more agitated at feeling predictable.

Her leg shits, subtlety for her, not so much for him. He sees a shape now partially hidden behind the same leg.

"Love." Making his dissaproval known with a single word is a skill he's honed.

"Shhhhhhh! Just eat your brownie, I made it myself!" She's undeterred by his dissaproval.

"Told you I didn't need anything" he grumbles, in hindsight he should have seen this coming.

"Less talking more eating!" She shoves the treat closer and with a deep exhale he sits up, one hand on the brownie the other to help stabilize her as she's sent off his chest into his lap.

It's a good mix of bitter and sweet, slightly more bitter. Still warm and gooey in the way he likes. Made with his preferences in mind he chews with an appreciative hum, places a peck on her forhead - "get chocolate on my face and ill bite your boob!"

His chest shakes in mirth as he spares a glance to make sure he hadn't gotten chocolate on her - knows she'll follow through on her threat, he's got the marks to prove it.

He eyes the shape - present- warily, as though it might bite them.

"Oh stop! You're gonna love it, just two things and they're small." She sounds hopeful, and excited. He supposes even if it were dog shit in a box he'd atleast TRY to sound happy, or at the very least sound not as angry as he could be to recieve dog shit.

He swallows the last bite of brownie, she plucks a crumb from his face and licks it off her finger. He contemplates asking for another kind of present for his birthday.

She seems to know where his mind has wandered and gives him an impish grin and a swat to his chest

"Down boy! We'll get to that later- open this first!"

She leans in his lap towards the gift and plucks it up with egar hands, practically shoving it into his own. Her fingers slide against his own rough and calloused palms and he shudders out a sigh. Her hands so much smaller but no less sure of what they're doing.

He takes a pause to settle his nerves, and pulls on the string holding the wrapping together. He's careful as he plucks open the paper, going slower at her insistence that 'you don't need to save the paper, just rip it!'.

Paper and ribbon no longer keeping the box closed he pops the lid open. Inside he finds what he recognizes as a sheathed knife, and a - bracelet?

He moves to pick it up but he's guided towards the knife."That one needs an explanation, focus on the knife first" she speaks softly, a hint of nerves.

Ever the dutiful soldier he follows her command. Grabbing the blade and carefully removing it from its case. It's got a good weight, balanced. It glistens in the lamplight. He recognizes the brand immediately

"how'd you get your hands on this? They only deal with custom shit - and only if you can prove you're armed services. Which you, love - unless you have something to tell me - are not" he says it like it's a joke. He hopes his eyes convey how deathly serious he is.

The idea of it - her in the field hurt or worse, lost and -

"I'm not in the military no. Buuutt your captain is!"

Ah, that. That makes more sense. But-

"He gave me his number the night you introduced us, in case I ever needed him or you"

Ah, so the old mans sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. He gives her an unimpressed look before sighing "alright fine. 'S a good gift. Thank you love, I'll keep it close."

"You're welcome! Now the other one."

She reaches for it before he's even set the blade on the bedside table. It is indeed a bracelet, it's something woven. Three strands, black, gold and blue.

She prods at his hands and taps each wrist, he gives her his preferred hand as she ties it on.

"So it's. It's uh. Hm. So okay, I was thinking about jewelry recently and I ended up remembering a conversation with my nana - you haven't met- but it was something like uh. " He watches her flounder, and if he wasn't already giving her his undivided attention his is now.

"Jewelry can be kind of a shield between the wearer and bad things. That if a piece of your jewelry breaks it means that it stopped something bad from happening to you. Like it sucked up all the bad and broke itself so you wouldn't break."

She's finished tying it, and now runs her hand along the lines in his palm. There's a sadness in her eyes now. He despises it, especially because this is likely something he can't just kill.

"And we'll. I cant...I can't protect you when you leave. I'm, I'd be no good at what you do. And sometimes that really bothers me. But I can do this. I can make this so that - so that even if I can't protect you, this can."

She rolls her eyes, and he sees that they're shiny now.

"And yes, I KNOW this little thing can't stop a bullet or whatever and it's not exactly jewelry like my nana was saying but. You know, I feel like it counts. And I made it. I...I kinda wished on it? Sorta. I just - thought every good thought I could and poured all my hopes that you come home safe and that you know I lo- well you know. " she flaps her hands dismissively and his free hand cups her warm cheek. She leans into it instinctively but her eyes brighten a smidge.

"And I know its silly but...can't hurt? And, and! It has your two favorite colors , black and blue"

"And the gold?" He encourages. Has a feeling his assumption is correct.

She meets his eyes, she knows he knows the answer - he just wants to hear it from her.

"....it's me. You say I light up your life and well , golds like sunlight so...... it was either that or piss yellow."

He barks out a laugh "gold. Gold's fine..." a comment rests on his tongue. The one where he tells her that he isn't superstitious and that he doesn't believe in things like luck. But he remembers that neither does she and instead trails off.

She can't control what happens out there or what he does. She understands it, she struggles with it. It's the fear, loving a man made for war is hard. She won't leave him, won't let herself be chased off. Willingly haunted by a man mostly dead. But he knows she's scared.

So if wearing her little trinket will sooth her soul, even a little, even if it doesn't make logical sense. He'll wear it.

"Thank you love. I'll keep it with me yeah? I'll be bullet proof."

"Okay - now you're making fun of me!...you don't HAVE to-"

"Might have to ask you to make some for the boys..specially Johnny. Fucker keeps adding holes faster than the medics can patch em up."

She pauses and a teeny grin lights up her face. That's better he thinks.

"Yeah! I have some yarn left over fro-"

"Fuck no. These are my colors, give him piss yellow."

She laughs loud, he'd worry about bothering his neighbors if he gave a fuck. But the woman in his lap makes it hard to be worried about much else besides keeping her laughing.

------------

"New gear Lt.?"

He flicks his gaze towards Johnny at the question, and he almost tells him no - he doesn't have any new gear. Until he remembers.

He took it out subconsciously, her knife. Just to keep his hands idle on the flight over to the middle of danger again. He also spies the tricolor cord peeking out from under his sleeve, knows the Scotsman has seen both.

"Something like that yea."

"Hmmmm wager a guess its from the missus?"

He stares at Johnny and the man snorts.

"Sorry yea, shouldn't have asked when I know the answer - ain't that right cap?"

Ghost eyes the captain next to him, catching his whiskerd grin tells him all he needs to know. Meddling old man.

"Never took you for a jewelery kinda guy Lt. ,not gonna lie" it's Gaz this time, he looks at the braclet with warmth in his eyes - a pinch of longing. A good lad Gaz, if he doesn't already have someone to come home to - he'll find them easy enough.

"Man of mutitudes Sgt. What can i say?"

The knife is returned to its proper place and his sleeve is adjusted to hide the woven band from any more eyes as the helicopter makes its descent.

And when there's a moment of peace after the fighting, he checks to make sure both are still there - keeping him safe.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

i recently had a thought about the reader's online friend!josh futterman, like if these two actually KNOW each other irl but have no idea about it because they use nicknames

i'd really appreciate it if you'd write something like this and I hope my description of it makes sense i used a translator for this lol

in love with your writing btw !!! <3

Bbgirl I gotCHUUUUU

Familiar Strangers

A Josh Futturman x Gender Neutral! Reader Series

Summery: They always say you never know when you'll meet Mister Right. But damn. This is a new level.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no gender specific pronouns for Reader, coffee shop AU, Josh never wins 'Biotic Wars' AU, fluff, meet cute, online friends who don't realize they're friends irl as well, brief mentions of smut, otherwise SFW.

Notes: Alright, first actually planned series! Is it gonna be a slowburn with twenty parts? A mini series? Who the fuck knows! Not me! Let's pray, mfers.

                                 ¤•1•¤

                    °☆>》Maggie's《<☆°

"Please tell me there's a chance for us," she says with baited breath. "Don't tell me you're walking away."

The atmosphere of the small, brick walled coffee shop is calm for 10 o'clock in the morning, but I'm not complaining. God knows I prefer this over the alternative anyways.

"You know that I can't answer that," Oshua says to Tiger, agitated.

This guy, always trying to be mysterious.

"I've waited for you my whole life. You could give me a goddamn-"

The ring of the shop bell tears me from my reading, my head darting up to see who has come to disturb my morning of peace and fiction.

"Hi!" The customer says in overly bright voice. One look at the man and I already know he's the chatty type, not willing to just duck in and out, keys jingling from the black belt on his hip as he flashes a bright, genuine smile, waving his hand enthusiastically while keeping the other in his pants pocket.

Motherfucker.

"Hi!" I try to return with the same bright smile and tone, but I feel irritation spike into my chest as I hear the soft 'click' of my phone shutting off. "Welcome to Maggie's, what can I get you?"

Gentle sunlight streams in through the permanently clouded bay windows of the shop, illuminating the store in its warm glow that just makes a morning feel particularly peaceful. There isn't much foot at this point in the morning, most people already having arrived to work an hour or so earlier, myself included. It was a busy enough part of town, a good location for a coffee shop to thrive, especially with the loyal flow of customers from Kronish Laboratory, a tall, dull building dedicated to scientific research, and the little coffee shop that signs my checks often had the pleasures (read: irritations) of dealing with said researchers and keeping them alive while they work on the miracle cure for herpes. Most of them being particularly rude and short about their orders, usually in a rush for a regular cup of black coffee and swiping it from my hand before storming out to resume their endless work typing away at a computer to log their samples after what must be their too short lunch break. Or maybe too long. Can never tell with those assholes. Most of which I know through mental nicknames. It's partially because I'm no good at actual names. And partially my own form of disrespect and entertainment. Come on, you do it too.

"I don't know," the unfamiliar man says brightly, placing his hands on his hips as he looks at the chalkboard sign hanging behind my head. "What do you like?"

'Whatever gets you out of here the fastest,' I think. But instead I say "Well, what exactly are you looking for? Tea, coffee," the door, "smoothies?"

"Hit me-" gladly. "-with a tea," the bright man says just so... brightly.

Thank you for being so descriptive. "What kind?" I ask, trying to keep my smile sweet.

"Whatever you like," he says with a shrug.

"Vanilla chai?"

"Sure!"

I need to stop being so irritable when someone interrupts my reading. I'm not even allowed to be on my phone at work technically, except the manager generally doesn't care so long as I at least make half an effort to hide it and don't do it in front of customers. And maybe I wouldn't even really care about the interruption except I've been waiting for the release of this part for two weeks, and Nick had been so secretive about the ending he didn't even let me beta read the work before posting.

"What's got you in such a mood?" I ask the smiling man, turning to begin making the drink. Oh, size.

"What do you mean?" He asks, raising his brows, still smiling. Brightly.

"You're like a big... ball of sunshine," I say, gesturing towards him before holding up a small and large cup, now gesturing the two like they were on scales to silently ask his preference.

"Oh, I'm just excited this morning. I'm not usually like this," he says, laughing a little as a small blush grows on his nose, glancing down at the floor before returning his gaze to the cups, pointing at the small.

"Yeah?" I ask, putting the large cup away.

"Yeah. Finished a big project this morning, so I'm like," he shrugs, now scratching the back of his head as he tries to subdue his smile, pressing his lips together and now crossing his subtly built arms across his chest.

"Well, congrats," I say. There's a small moment of slightly awkward silence as the tea quickly brews, both of us not really sure what to say next. This is the part I hate about customer service. I feel bad if I'm not constantly keeping them engaged, but if they're constantly talking I wish they would shut the fuck up. I already can't read regular conversation cues, there's just no winning with this shit.

"I like your uh..." the man I've decided will henceforth be known as Sunshine drawls. "Apron."

I look down at myself, taking note of the dandelion yellow cloth stained with coffee at the bottom from an hour ago when it accidently dipped into a puddle of the stuff while I was cleaning up a spill someone hadn't even told me about only half an hour after opening.

"Thanks," I say, looking back up. "Company issued."

"Oh, we match!" Sunshine jokes, pointing at his grey jumpsuit. Alright, the man may be way too energetic for the morning, but at least he's entertaining about it. I take an actual look at his attire now, a janitors outfit with what I should've expected to be a Kronish Laboratory logo right above his name sewn onto the suit.

"That we do..." I glance at his nametag. "Futturman."

"Fut-turman, not Foot-turman," Sunshine corrects me.

"Oh shit. Shoot. Sorry, man," I laugh awkwardly, offering an apologetic smile as I pour the warm, steeped tea over the ice.

"Iced in Febuary?" He asks, giving me enough grace to not focus on the subject.

I feel my own blush creep onto my skin, a side effect from the name jumble and realizing I hadn't asked his preference. Get your head in the game, idiot.

"I can make you another, if you'd like," I offer sheepishly.

"No!" He blurts, straightening his posture and leaning against the counter. "I mean-" he coughs awkwardly, glancing away. "No, iced is good. I like iced, just uh- figured you... wouldn't have the same preference."

Please, God. It's too early for this.

"I don't like the hot to room temperature texture," I say awkwardly, searching for a lid. "Too... I don't know. Iced to room temperature is better."

"Totally agree," Sunshine says quickly.

Glad to know neither of us can interact with humans properly.

Another moment of awkward silence, except I know what to say this time.

"So, you work at the lab?" I ask. For the small moment I didn't have his attention, he seemed to be surveying the small cakes on display inside the counter beside me, looking at a little white cake with strawberry coating on top before turning back to me.

"Oh! Yeah, no, I just- Carl told me about the place, said I had to try it out," he says, shifting his weight as he stands. "Good vibes and all that."

"Carl..." I say, trying to remember if I've known a Carl.

"Big, like," he gestures his hands long then wide. "Works security, looks like," he makes a sort of stern, almost mean mug face. At that it clicks.

"Oh! Carl!" Deftones Guy. "Yeah, I know him," I say with a more relaxed smile, chuckling a little.

"Yeah, said you guys discuss music sometimes," he says, nodding enthusiastically like he's glad we know the same person.

"A little," I say, placing the drink on the counter. "Alright, Mr. Futturman. $6.70 is your total."

The dark haired man nods, pulling out a green wallet with an emblem on the front from one of his deep pockets. I try to get a clear look simply out of curiosity, but his large, tanned hand covers it too much for me to see what it is.

"Here you are," he says, handing me his card. There's more silence, this time comfortable as I swipe it, our machine beeping twice in decline. At the third beep, Sunshine begins to shift his weight again, licking and biting his bottom lip nervously.

"There should be money on there," he says with a nervous chuckle.

"Oh, it's the machine. It doesn't like working," I clarify. "One sec."

Quickly, I pound my palm into the righthand top corner of the device, right under the chip reader before inserting the blue, cloud covered card once more and waiting for the transaction to clear. At the much more calm, non-nuclear level beep we both breathe a sigh of relief as I return the card to him with a smile.

"Alright," he says with that bright tone to his voice once more. "Now I can see what's up."

We both can.

"I hope you have a good day, Mr. Futturman," I say brightly, still a tad pink from leftover embarrassment.

Sunshine nods and smiles at me, toasting his drink before turning from me and beginning to walk away, taking a sip of his drink and humming in approval, turning quickly and giving me a thumbs up before tripping over his own foot and stumbling into the door like a bit of an idiot, making me giggle slightly before I make myself look away to give him the same grace he'd given me earlier. And with that last exchange he's gone, and I'm free to return to my art.

The tall man looked sadly at- ah shit, I jumped ahead.

"I've waited for you my whole life. You could give me a goddamn answer, Future Man!" Tiger spat in anger and frustration, forcing the emotions she could barely even allow herself to feel overwhelm her in her attempts to communicate.

Emotional angst for my bright morning. God bless, Nick.

-

As I push open the door to my apartment, my phone is buzzing with still silent notifications of what I can guarantee are Tumblr sourced. More specifically, Tumblr messaging sourced. As I push the door shut with my foot, one glance at my old, outdated phone confirms my thoughts.

felinehusband: Okay, give it to me straight.

I smile at the notification, allowing my oversized bag filled with too many items to clatter to the ground loudly, unlocking my phone and responding quickly.

icanfixhimdotorg: Dude.

I walk as I type, entering the kitchen and opening the door to the small freezer to see which cheap meal I'll try not to nuke tonight.

felinehusband: Dude? ,:)

I smile at the message, picking out chicken teriyaki as I hit send.

icanfixhimdotorg: Worth. The. Wait.

I cross to the beaten microwave, the appliance cheap and secondhand from Facebook marketplace. It's honestly a miracle the thing hasn't blown up in my face or given me detectable cancer, but despite the large dent on the side, still usable. Google said if the door still seals and there's no opening, it was safe. And it got that dent from me dropping it on the way inside the apartment on move in day after I already paid $50 for it after getting it from some overworked mom who hardly wanted to even charge that low. I sure as hell wasn't gonna get a refund, or anything functional for cheaper.

I leave my phone on the counter as I open the frozen meal, vent the film and slap it inside. Now to wait for seven minutes.

felinehusband: Oh thank GOD. I've been anxious all day.

I chuckle softly, smiling as I lean against the permanently grimy counter.

icanfixhimdotorg: I don't know why!! You always post such good work :)

felinehusband: Well, I post work that always has good reception.

icanfixhimdotorg: The difference?

felinehusband: ... I'll get back to you on that one lol

I tap my foot against the floor, listening to the muffled echo mix with the loud hum of the microwave as I stare ahead at the mint green, poorly painted wall in front of me.

icanfixhimdotorg: No cervix penetration?

There's plenty of ways to meet friends. I didn't not bank on responding to a request for beta readers for fanfiction for some moderate, slowly dying game fandom to be one of them.

felinehusband: ONE TIME!

The quick response makes me laugh, clicking off my phone as I turn my attention now to my waiting meal that I'm going to devour much too quickly while working lines for my production.

Nick and I started chatting about six months ago. I had already been following him for some of his shit posts, midnight blogging, and when he started posting fanfiction I was one of his first readers.

'Biotic Wars' doesn't have a particularly big following on Tumblr as it used to. When the game first came out, people were going insane over how to beat the final level. The community thrived from memes, overly elaborate theories, fanfiction, you name it. It helped that there was a huge boost in the gaming community in general around the time it came out, what with 'Five Nights at Freddy's' cranking out sequels faster than anyone could keep up with, 'Undertale' breaking out onto the scene a little bit later. The gaming side of Tumblr was alive and thriving, and the amount of overlapping there was between fandoms only made it bigger. That was how I found the fandom personally. That and binging several different speed-running videos.

At the point Nick came onto the scene, most had generally lost their interest in the unbeatable 'Biotic Wars.' The fans that remained did so out of genuine interest or hyperfixation instead of temporary trends, and while good work was still being posted, everyone had at that point either begun to shift their own writing focuses, lost time to post frequently, or shifted to other platforms such as Archive of Our Own and had stopped crossposting to their Tumblr. So a decent, well paced, new angst fic following a lone Wolf and Tiger reminiscing on their old journies together as they attempted to survive a bitter winter night without any supplies other than an old tarp being used as their only attempt of shelter as they attempt to ride out a storm after a mission gone wrong popped onto the scene, people were immediately captivated. And even though it was a one-shot, the work received enough attention that a spin-off fic was posted within the following 48 hours. And once those two had blown up, Nick was quickly recognized in the community for his content, shitposts and fics alike. And he was very lucky to have overwhelming positive feedback. Until his first smut, that is.

icanfixhimdotorg: Nico, baby. It's an important first step for every smut writer.

Oh, it was brutal. First, he decided to go off the deep end by just jumping straight into some tenticle situation for poor Tiger. Now, granted, he did post a poll before hand asking if we readers would enjoy the consumption of some outrageous shit, to which 78.8% of voters said yes, myself included. But when reading a 'baby's first smut' fic, one doesn't really expect... that. But I'll admit, it was surprisingly good quality. Until the cervix penetration.

"Coiling in her womb." Yeah, Tumblr had a fun day with that one.

It took less than a day for him to post that he was searching for smut consultants and beta readers, to which I responded both out of genuine interest and a bit of pity since I was sure his ask box was filling with several new comments. No one was surprised when he ended up turning off anon for a few days. And since I had responded to quite a few of his works/posts already, I was one of the lucky few selected for such a job since he recognized me. And once the doorway was opened for casual chatter, both of us just kind of never stopped. Either by constantly responding to each others posts, automatic reblogs at each notification of a new post, or messaging each other about our days kept us both sane as we tried to just survive each new day as adults.

I look up from my notebook where my tragic script is scratched across the $0.75 college notebook as I lazily attempt to memorize my lines while mostly keeping my eyes trained on the old TV in front of me to check the buzz from my phone, swiping it open to read the new message.

felinehusband: So how's season four going?

icanfixhimdotorg: Dude.

I watch the screen until I feel the phone buzz once more in my hand.

felinehusband: No spoilers!! I'm still trying to push through season three for you ;)

Nick was sweet. Good for a joke, claims he's a little awkward, but a good friend. Sweet enough that about two months ago he'd let it slip he'd begun watching my favorite show simply because "If I have to see you go insane over animated anthropomorphic animals interacting with humans again without context, I'm gonna lose it."

icanfixhimdotorg: Binge it!! You're gonna lose your mind!!

felinehusband: You're gonna delay part 10 lmao

As I take the last bite of my meal, I realize the time, sighing as I begin to do the mental math of how long I have until practice tonight. Knowing how little time I have to prepare, I pause the episode and type one last quick text.

icanfixhimdotorg: If it does, it's worth it honestly. You won't believe this shit, Nick.

As I stand from the sagging, horrendously textured couch I catch his parting message while I stretch, popping about five different spots in my back.

felinehusband: Okayokay, if it means I can read your over the top rants again, it's worth it :)

icanfixhimdotorg: Excellent. Got to go, showering for practice tonight.

I trail quickly through the small apartment, grabbing whatever clothes are passable in public while remaining comfortable enough to sleep in when I immediately collapse into my bed around 11 tonight, an old, tattered, turquoise towel I'd stolen from my parents when I moved out, and grabbing my soap from the kitchen sink before making my way to the bathroom. Listen, Seventh Generation is cheap and works just as good on the human body as it does on dishes, alright? I'm trying to get a mortgage one day.

As I wait for the water to shift from its arctic temperature to something more bearable, I check my phone one more time to quickly reblog a gifset and read Nick's departing message.

felinehusband: Knock 'em dead, Mercutio :)

felinehusband: Also, I need some input later tonight for this like. Slowburn thing. May be an AU. Not sure, we'll see. I'm thinking coffee shop

Ah, yes.

icanfixhimdotorg: A classic.

                             >¤》○《¤<

I'm making no current promises on how frequently I update this series. Hopefully it'll be something I can work on while working and such, but we'll see what happens. My current hope is to post at minimum one request and hopefully one part for this series per week. However I will warn one of my current projects is about to wrap up, meaning I'm going to have to focus on that next week as much as possible, meaning I probably won't get anything done writing wise next week unless I aim for a drabble or headcanons. And even then I'm not sure I'll have time for actually editing and such, so don't be surprised if the only content you get next week is some rambles like I've been doing for Peeta lately or nothing at all. Alright, love y'all!! Stay safe, stay healthy <33 see you next time.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

[aheathen-conceivably]

Now that we know a little more, clearly Gio is pretty ticked off with the situation - considering the feelings that he has about his and Jo’s relationship already, combined with the guilt and likely irritation of her finding out about his lying, now also combined with her demanding part ownership of the ranch - he doesn’t have a lot of leg to stand on. He has to just, deal with it, because it IS all their lives’ on the line, and nothing he’s tried to do has worked. I voted for Zelda to be most pissed, but I think she and Antoine are really just sad for now, so Gio might run away with the title after all 😭

Oh HELLO my friend! I love that we’re still playing the game of “Who Will Snap First!” (Game show pending). You’re hella right about one thing, as things shift and move, everybody’s numbers start to kind of adjust don’t they? Cause ahem, yeah, Gio is ~not pleased~ at the moment, and like you said, he doesn’t even feel like he has the “right” to be angry (which is its own sort of compounding factor, isn’t it?).

Is it time for a Gio deep dive? Welp. Gather one gather round my darlings because you know I can never resist….

Ted Talk with a Heathen! (Obviously under the cut because I’m a madlad)

First and foremost let me say that for whatever else Jo may do or how she demanded it, she is damn right not to pay off a loan without some legal backing in return. Now does she know this? For sure. But does she also know that she did it to get under Gio’s skin in a way that nothing else could? Absolutely. I’ve talked about it a little here, but Gio’s entire mindset is wrapped up in this farmhouse. It is his American dream. We also need to remember that he did what he said he never would in order to get the money to buy it, which is involve himself in his family bootlegging back in the 1920s. He even admitted to Antoine that after their one deal he tried to get out, but “once they get their teeth into you, once they know where you are, they don’t let you stop.” So Gio saved up this money by going against his own moral code and then ran from it to a place he thought he could establish himself as a “legitimate” American.

And I know yall like to rag on him about “making bad choices,” and while that’s partially true, Gio is just horribly, horribly unlucky. Buying land in the American West was incredibly fortuitous at one point in history, and it’s these stories that prompted Gio to do this at all. He’s an example of how not only can we buy into propaganda with our money and our dreams, but how they intersect with historical circumstances in ways far beyond our control or predictions.

Now to add to this, Gio knows what Jo has just done. She’s essentially taken part of what’s incredibly personal and precious to him as “payment” for what he did to her: which was trying to control her into fitting neatly into his dream when she had told him no multiple times before. In doing so he took away what was most precious to her: control and autonomy over her own life. It’s why he’s not really fighting her, and that deep seated Catholic guilt is simply telling him that this is retribution. But you can only write off someone else’s actions as righteous for so long, can’t you? And to make matters worse, let’s not forget….

Gio is not stupid. He knows something is going on between Jo and Val. How much of him thinks it’s just flirtation? How much of it is genuine or is just Jo once again trying to “get back at him”? But he’s staying quiet about it for a reason, most likely the same reason he’s willing to roll over and let Jo take 1/4th ownership of his dream. He’s motivated by guilt and ideas of righteous payback, yes, but he’s also taking a gamble that Jo is working through his betrayal in a way that he has to let her get through, and he’s attempting to let go of control to show her that he won’t do it again.

Essentially, he’s overcompensating for his actions and using his own compliance as a sort of “play” in their game to keep the other person where they want them. Is this potentially more motivated by love and less problematic than him directly lying to her to get her to stay? Y’all can make the call on that, but now at the very least, he’s the one suffering for it rather than her.

Now with all that going on, how far is this man willing to bend? How intuitive is Jo to when she’s pushed him too far and how much of her even gives a damn? Welp. There’s your questions on today’s episode of 1930s: Arc Two! Who Will Snap First? with more info coming at you tomorrow! 🫡

[painfullyprickedandticked]

alright, so this is more so loosely related to these two posts i’ve made that are similar in subject. i really don’t know how i keep making these, but goddamn it, it’s happening yet again. my love for stolitz and fizz/ozzie aside, the whole “sticking to the same species” trend that’s always had this weird undercurrent here is... it’s just genuinely bizarre to me? and some people just don’t really take notice of it? maybe i’m slightly looking too deep into it, but… like…

when it’s just blitzø/fizz, i can understand its appeal. it isn’t really my main ship, i like it more so for the fact it was a teenage crush blitzø had on fizz, and the pain that it went unsaid. could it have been possible fizz felt the same? maybe? we’ll never know because that’s in the past now, and that’s fine. it doesn’t have to be some big thing where they slowly get back together. they’re moving on with their lives and reconnected as friends, and they have their own current love interests. but the “oh, it’s healthier” or "THE CHEMISTRY IS STRONGER" thing. that’s when it goes from some innocent “what if” to… obnoxious, almost. irksome.

blitzø’s childhood sucked, and when moving on from the past, one must make peace with it and accept that they can’t have any of what they wanted now. that includes, well, the obvious! like, explore and move onto new things. and i’ve said it before, i’ll say it again: stolitz is about overcoming the toxicity through slow burn. both have to sift through their flaws as individuals before endering a healthy relationship together. that includes prejudices, which… is why the same species thing is just so WEIRD. why should blitzø be solely with an imp or hellborn of a similar caste? why can’t he go for something grander? because it’s “above him”? what happened to bridging gaps and overcoming class differences?? fizz and ozzie didn’t give a shit about any of that!

but sure, let’s pair him with… uhhhh… the imp hybrid that’s a supremacist, and sees literally almost every other imp as inferior to him and just has a lot of weird internalized hatred that he’s never gonna cope with (striker is definitely a hyrbid and is upset he looks more imp than whatever other demon he is partially mixed with; my bets are he’s part shark bc his eyes have spirals like crimson's gay bodyguard) and told blitz, “you’re the least suckish imp” like! such a healthier option amirite. as if being both equally oppressed means they must be together / healthier, like… i can’t. i mean, at least with fizz, that’s his childhood friend and didn’t pull the shit striker did-- and i like striker but let’s not kid ourselves, guys… i can admit when i’m hypocritical, but the delusions i’ve seen. damn.

regarding blitzø and fizz, it’s just kind of going back to square one. starting over in a lukewarm manner.

then there’s what I call a definite example of this bizarre trend: Vassago and Stolas. So I’ve mentioned it before my own gripes with the rebound idea and the "Oh this is a alternative that's healthier" which is a certified way to not get me on a side of a new ship. I never really dug deep into the same species angle outside of how it would derail Stolas' character development. So here's where I dig into it as a treat thanks to a certain person who’s basically backed up the previous posts I made in spite of the bullshit that's going on.

in spite of the whole, you know, “overcome prejudice” arc... people push for stolas to be with another bird demon so badly. it’s never really diving into repercussions, what their personalities are like together, how do they rub off on each other-- how they develop together or individually as a result-- but it’s more so a surface level, “they look nice together.” and don’t give me “vassago’s a nice guy!” because then why the hell wouldn’t there be more stolas x ozzie since ozzie’s a little more cordial to stolas than most are, i’d presume? (a stretch but bare with me) cool, parrot dude is nice-- what else is there.

oh yes-- aesthetically, color blending wise, it looks good. where’s the spices? you can’t cook a meal without key ingredients. a relationship doesn’t work because they’re a similar species and one of them could be nice to the other. or even that they just know each other. relationships don’t begin with just that. and then there’s the “they have the same lifespan argument” except not really because vassago is 50, stolas is 36, so no it’s not even a same lifespan. and even then, people ship immortals with mortals all the time?? why are some of you being so weird about this one time there’s a certain type of immortal/mortal ship???

if this doesn’t apply, then let it fly. but there is definitely some that apply to this and i feel it’s such an odd trend. stop trying to make them all stick to their own species.

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Keeping with that Alma haunts Isa au!

1) I think Alma should earn her own body (Or learn to control Isa). Firstly, it would be far more damning for Pedro to be called out by his actual wife, rather than her copy). And the rest of the family deserves to know Alma too without Isabela as Alma's voice. My idea is that when argument comes Alma and Isa are so pissed off that the magic either gives Alma a sort of body for a short period (still connected to Isabela tho). Or Alma just yells that she's Alma! But I don't think Alma should have any control before that.

2. About the other sisters. I don't think we can have Fractured Mira's level of trauma. It really should be more subtle. Again, Fractured Isabela was a child. Alma is an adult, so she would have another response. And with adult's encouragement, Isa could watch over Mirabel more than in Fracture/Imperfect

I totally agree.

Alma should get to have an actual interaction with the family, Pedro especially, that isn’t just Isabela speaking for her. How else would they have proof that this is real? (Again, mainly for Pedro. The rest of the family would probably trust Isabela). I think getting her own body is a bit messy and random; it would take away from the moment and bring in too many questions. It would more likely be she just got temporary control over Isabela and something minor would change about Isa to imply that to the others, such as voice or eye colour, etc.

As for Mirabel, I wasn’t planning to make her completely the same as the other Pedro Lives AU Mirabels. If onto to play around with something different. So this works out fine with me. But I will say that if it’s too minor or subtle, it renders the whole argument scene worthless. It would need to be something big for the impact of Alma making an appearance to shut it down.

Even if Isabela does have Alma giving her guidance and permission to do things, she won’t actually have any power to constantly watch over or check on Mirabel. Pedro would definitely still keep her quite isolated from the rest of the family - especially Isabela - partially to avoid being caught out on whatever he’s doing. And Mirabel herself won’t be any more likely to talk about her feelings than normal; it is Mirabel we’re talking about after all.

[umbralsong]

Lady Incognita

Cazador Szarr's "niece" is named Amanita Szarr. You can find her story scattered throughout the palace's attic, dungeon, and the House of Hope. She was a girl who grew up near Anga Vled raised by old servants. At 13, she was brought to visit her uncle in Baldur's Gate...

The day her entire family exposed themselves as vampires.

Alternate Text: An east Asian girl with medium-brown skin and dark brown then red eyes looks away from the viewer. One with brown, facing away. Twice with red and shoddily cut away dark hair, looking away in despair and notably darkened, red, downcast eyes and short hair. Once more with darkened eyes and a cloak and red eyes to match, long dark hair flowing from her hood.

Unfinished, but hey. I want to show fellow artists that things just don't come to you. Sometimes, you have to work the lines and paint until they do. Use Glaze to protect your art from AI scrapers.

The notes you can find in order:

Alturiak 1477 Tarsakh 1477 Mirtul 1477 Kythorn 1477 Flamerule 1477

Please read about issues with Cazador's depiction [here]. Thank them for their kind contribution and show support.

Donate to Gaza here: https://gazafunds.org/ Support good causes with a click here: https://arab.org/ Ceasefire Now: https://ceasefire-now.com/ Donate to the [Sidewalk School] [Pay your rent], settlers. [KOSA Resources]

The city palace, straddling the wall between the Upper and Lower City, was more than creepy, it was somehow chilling.

Cazador Szarr the Avid rose to power in 1296. She stayed at the estate for at least four months before she was killed. She was turned in Kythorn 1477, 15 years before the start of the story.

'Uncle' Cazador made me a vampire, but I refused to participate in the family rites. He gave me the Hunger but he could not break my will. He had Blovart imprison me in the attic. I weakened. They sent up human blood, and eventually I drank it. For a year, they stopped sending anything. I tore at the walls in frustration. Then they sent up a bound captive.

Cazador's favorite punishments are cruelty, hunger, and isolation.

His staff, "Woe:" The gentle tap-tap-tap of a staff on stone sparked terror for all in Cazador's palace. It signalled an approaching storm, and all they could do was shrink into the background and pray its wrath would not fall on them. His dagger, "Rhapsody:" Cazador's love of poetry arose after he read on the naked stomach of a dead child in his homeland. The child was hung from the lowest branch of a tree. Cazador read the poem, and looked at the child, and he knew that here was the artform for him.

Her coffin is on a wooden table overlooking a window. There are chains by her bed, a candle, and a skull. There are three skeletons in the attic, one headless with a crossbow and garlic cloves in their cage.

I succumbed. I am a vampire, and damned. I curse the name of Szarr and reject it. Now I stay in the attic by choice and write my little histories. I am Lady Incognita. Amanita is no more.

I think the snippets of her story were so impactful because of the complete betrayal. The fact her family were never around. The fact they lied for her entire life. The fact they forced her to transform, which we know from Astarion's partial ceremorphosis dialogue is incredibly painful:

Player: Unlike you to be so unwilling to receive a new power... Astarion: That was before I knew the cost. Before I knew it meant transforming into some grotesque beast. I remember how it hurt when I turned to a vampire. My body writhed and warped while I was utterly helpless, the grip of death owned my heart as it beat its last. I - I don't want to turn into anything else. I can't do that again. I can't watch my body be taken over. Player: You're afraid? Astarion: I'll happily murder my way to whatever powerful artefacts we can make use of. Point at the back and I'll stab. Just don't ask me to sacrifice my body. It hasn't been mine for so long.

We know thematically there is a parallel between vampirism, abuse, and sexuality. Cazador appeared to lose interest in his 'niece' altogether. Nonetheless, he locked her into an eternal childhood under "true vampirism," never to grow to adulthood, and denied her a "typical" life forevermore. There is something particularly grotesque about that.

Astarion: Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there. I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his. Until today. Player: You were never his. Whatever he had, he took by force. Astarion: Maybe, but he did take it. There's almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock. For nearly two centuries, I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.

We find The Tourmaline Depths in the room beneath Cazador's room. She wrote Diseases of the Blood to tackle vampiric illness. She wrote the names of ruling vampires, their titles, and their successors. She is, what, 28?

I like to think she knew all of Cazador's secrets, from the corpses in the suspended cages to his dungeon. I'm impressed by her mental fortitude in the face of such odds as a child and young woman. I'm impressed she chose to do what she loved, escaped, and became such a relevant figure in the study of vampiric physiology. I wish we knew her better. I wish we had the opportunity to meet her.

She is the historian who sullies his name and documents his endless crimes. She escaped. Cazador underestimated her.

[pluralismajestatis]

( send me a Pride Month prompt or I'm replacing you, the reader, with ChatGPT. )

@bonesandbolts / AO3 link

--------

“Come on, I can’t believe this…” The woman brushed back her dark hair, reaching just underneath her bony shoulders revealed partially from underneath her loose, wide-necked shirt. Its sleeves were crumpled up above her elbows, exposing lengths of pale arm, ending in bony wrists and slender hands, one ring on her left index finger and one on the thumb, then another on the right index finger, with a loose brass bracelet to accompany it.

She was giving her phone's screen a despairing stare.

Tim was glancing at her from underneath his cascade of curly hair covering that side of his face. The other, exposed by the undercut, felt cold under the pub’s aircon.

“Who the hell would pass up on a snack like me…? I thought I had it this time. Goddamnit…”

She clearly didn’t know that she was being heard, or seen, by anyone. Tim might as well have been air to her. No matter; he was good at coming out of the shadows. Even now, the way he slid his body around until his knee was facing her and his lap was revealed from underneath the shadows of the counter, the way he relaxed onto the elbow of his right side - he looked natural, and he knew it. He’d been here a thousand times.

“Ghosted?”

“Oh, yeah. Guess I must have hit up a whole haunted house, this is the third time in - doesn’t matter,” she sighed, finally giving him a look. It seemed to change her mind about something, and Tim enjoyed that. He straightened his spine and cocked a brow.

“No way,” he said with an exaggerated look of surprise on his features. “Damn, they don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

“Yeah, right. A cocktail of sweet summer fun and a gallon of bad memes,” the woman half-laughed, half-grunted. She had a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Does that cocktail have a name? I’m Tim, by the way. Short for Timothy. And you can call me whatever you’d like.”

She examined him, and Tim knew she was trying hard to make up her mind about him. He was putting up a good pose, a relaxed, cocky head tilt, letting the soft bump of his lower belly press up against the loose shirt over his otherwise long frame. His fingers, littered with freckles this time of the year like the clothes of a spray painter were marked with collateral, headed for the sharp bumps of his collarbones. His shirt, between hot pink and a shade of fleshy purple, didn’t quite match the way hers hung over her shoulders, but left little to imagination as it was.

“Alice,” she said hesitantly, grinning, “Tell me, what’s a snack like you doing here all alone?”

“Same as you, looks like,” Tim chuckled and gave it a defeated half-shrug. “I was gonna meet someone but they didn’t turn up, and now I’m washing away the pain with piña colada and regret.”

“So it’s just us, then,” Alice noted.

“Snacks and cocktails with no buyers in sight. Seems like,” Tim confirmed.

“Waste of my money, really,” Alice pointed out. “Since I didn’t come here to pay for my own drinks.”

“Funny, because neither did I.”

“Oh, damnit. I was hoping for a Prince Charming.”

“Sorry, turns out I’m a princess, too. But you should have got that by now, since we’re both stuck in this tower.”

She had a nice laugh - the kind of a bitter, sarcastic laugh that Tim knew he’d enjoy listening over a drunken conversation late at night. It wasn’t late, though; barely seven in the evening. He’d have to put in at least some effort to make it stretch further, for science of course, to see if he’d really enjoy it when he was too far off his mind to worry about tomorrow.

“You know what?” Alice said then, breaking Tim out of his early plans.

“No, you’ll have to tell me first.”

“I think you and I,” she carried on, evidently ignoring his quip, “should get the hell out of here and go somewhere much cheaper.”

“Like where?”

“My place? I’ve got some really good movies I’ve been planning to watch.”

Tim snorted. “Wait, are you calling me in for a Netflix and chill?”

Alice let out a raspberrying sigh. “Nah, mate, I’m calling you in for Netflix and beer. It’s the best I’ve got but it’s already paid for and besides, I’m going to look awfully sad if I get to all of that on my own later when I’m already drunk.”

Tim chuckled. “Sold,” he said, then emptied the rest of his drink without really tasting it. “Two heartbroken princesses and a movie night. Who needs a man anyway?”

“Not me,” Alice confirmed, wiped her hands on a napkin and stood up. “I’m done with dating apps for at least another month.”

[kingkatsuki]

Me when i krill myself why does tumblr hate me 😔. Ignore that first partial ask NEKDJDKDNDKJD.

AS I WAS SAYING

Kaji is at a meeting of sorts that has both some bofurin members and lions head members. It’s like a little lounge room somewhere with pool tables, TVs, a few other things. You can go get snacks around the corner.

Maybe the two groups are supposed to have a little powwow over some pool, talking about plans to work together on something they haven’t before. Or maybe they’re competing and talking about it. The tone of the conversation to be had is unknown as of yet.

Most of the dudes there are chillin either playing pool or standing by. Kaji is sitting by himself, in the corner, on his phone, as he does.

Closer to the start of the conversation Hiragi notices Kaji is rather focused on whatever it is he’s doing. He goes closer to get his attention, maybe to signal to lift one of the headphone cuffs around his ears off so he can hear. Kaji doesn’t even come close to noticing him tho. Face neutral, eyes focused. Must be some game he’s playing or something right?

Hiragi goes even closer to maybe swipe Kaji’s phone, but freezes at what he sees as his face brightens with a shade of red. Bro short circuits and his body acts on its own, slapping the phone out of Kaji’s hand. It falls to the floor and the two get to arguing, one flustered, one angry.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WATCHING THAT?”

“MIND YOUR OWN DAMN BUSINESS! I DO WHAT I WANT!”

“ARE YOU THAT LONELY THAT YOU CHOOSE A MEETING OF ALL PLACES TO BE IMAGINING SOME WOMAN?”

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT! I DON’T CARE ABOUT OTHER WOMEN! AND THAT’S MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND.”

“GIRLFRIEND? HOW THE HELL DO YOU-“

“SHUT THE HELL UP! I’M GREAT WITH GIRLS!!”

Hiragi is about to yell back but Togame Jo, voice as calm as ever fills the space first, with enough volume to catch those two’s attention.

His eyes, and everyone else’s eyes are one of the TV screens hanging on the wall close to the ceiling.

“I’ll say…”

Slowly the two register your whimpers and whines filling the room. It’s like they don’t see what’s on the screen as they’re confused for a few moments. But once it clicks, the scales come off their eyes and they realize what’s happened.

On the screen now is your sopping went cunt, up close and personal. Fingers move in and out of you, white essence coating them and slowly seeping from your hole around them. Your clit is puffy; engorged. Your legs shake. And everyone can hear as Kaji murmurs how good you are. How you’re taking his fingers so well.

Seems with that smack, somehow Kaji’s phone connected to and mirrored his screen to the TV.

Hiragi is about to pass out. Kaji himself honestly isn’t all that affected. He just begins to zone back in like he was before when the view was all for himself.

Togame speaks up again slowly tearing his eyes from the screen, but continuing to drown in the sounds, as he looks toward Kaji.

“Must be quite the Casanova to have something like this on ‘im..”

He tilts his glasses down, somehow catching Kaji’s attention with the gesture how Hiragi couldn’t before, a grin on his face.

“I would wager to guess from what I’ve seen… That she’s a good fuck, right?”

Some members tense thinking this may be fighting words, the meeting that was planned be damned.

But Kaji only nods.

“The best.”

DERE OH MY GOD.

This awakened something filthy inside me. With Kaji going to switch off screen mirroring and basically every man in the room telling him not to so they can keep watching the videos of you that he’s got on his phone. They even make him scroll through all the lewd selfies you’ve sent him wearing all sorts of pretty lingerie (or nothing at all) and they’re sat around this television making comments about how pretty you are, how jealous they are of Kaji and practically begging for more pics/videos. Telling him to ask you whether you can send more for them, or whether they can see you like this in real life.

Kusumi is the true pervert as he films the screen with his phone for later (as if he’s too shy to ask you or Kaji to send the video across)

Choji is blunt as he comments on every sound you make, the squelch of your cunt and the creamy ring you leave around the base of Kaji’s cock.

Umemiya is like Hiragi as he says they should probably turn it off— but somehow he still makes no effort to move.

Even poor Nirei is pretending not to watch to protect your integrity, and yet his eyes flicker up to the screen every time your ass is the focus just so he can watch it bounce.

“That position must be quite uncomfortable.” Suo comments as though he isn’t imagining contorting you in the exact same way right now.

And Sakura looks almost ready to pass out and yet he can’t look away— the blushing tip of his swollen cock as red as his cheeks as he tries to remember to breathe.

It’s a huge ego boost to Kaji, but now he’s wondering how the fuck to explain to you that he accidentally played your video to the entire group (and not even just members of Bofurin) and how much they liked it.