#this is my first time posting stuff like this…..

[les4elliewilliams]

warning: reblogging this post summons her at 3am.

18+ ⋮ desperately need a feralwife!ellie who:

౨ৎ records you riding her without asking, saves it in a folder on her desktop named taxes and watches it every time she’s left alone with nothing but her hand to keep her pussy company, the filthy video reflecting on her too-big, nerdy glasses.

౨ৎ pulls you into her lap during dinner just so she can innocently grind her thigh up into you and call you dramatic when a soft mhph slips out.

౨ৎ asks if you’re ovulating just to get on her knees and say she can “smell it,” and she can—this fuckin’ horndog swears she can taste it in your sweat, savour it in the air, and see it in the sway of your hips.

౨ৎ moans your name into your pillow when she humps it on days you’re too tired to fuck—cause she’d never dare push you into anything you don’t feel like doing. she’ll even give you a five-star massage and put you to sleep. either way, she always leaves a sticky patch on your side of the bed like a dog in heat marking territory.

౨ৎ gets a rush from public stuff. like letting her fingers brush the inside of your thigh under the dinner table at family events, then gaslighting you right after. “what a snowflake, i wasn’t even doin’ anything.”

౨ৎ manifests sex by walking around the house with a white, see-through tank top and Calvin Klein boxers. ngghhh.

౨ৎ masturbates to your voice notes when you’re at work—casual, boring updates about what you’ve eaten or done—and she’s fingering herself to your laugh like it’s the best porn she’s ever witnessed. obsessed much? nah. she calls it devotion. same goes for the sound of your voice during arguments, she replays voice memos where you’re yelling at her and imagining you doing it naked. she needs you mean. it’s a necessity, not a want.

౨ৎ presses her strap into your ass while folding laundry together, completely deadpan, like she’s not wearing that thing just to get you dripping. “oops. my bad.”

౨ৎ fucks you in front of the huge mirror hanging in your bedroom so she can see your face falling apart in real time, pulling your hair while hissing, “look at you, look at what i do to you,” and she pounds you like she’s trying to milk your womb and get you pregnant. she cruelly slows down when you’re about to cum, “i know, i know baby—it’s too much, but you’re takin’ it so good,” and won’t stop until your legs shake. keeps going even when you sob, pressing apologetic kisses to your neck and the blade of your shoulder. “one more, i know you’ve got one more in you, for me, c’mon.”

౨ৎ moans your name while she comes in her boxers from dry humping your soaked pussy, shaking like an electrocuted virgin, “fuckfuckfuck baby, i’m gonna cum.” #bringdryhumpingback

౨ৎ gets emotionally and spiritually hard off watching you sleep. not in a romantic way either. she just stares at your parted lips, your shirt riding up, and whispers filthy things under her breath like a creep. and when you do catch her, she doesn’t even look ashamed.

౨ৎ slips her thigh between yours while you’re sleeping, just to keep you open. not even trying anything… unless you move in your sleep.

౨ৎ plays with the hem of your panties when you’re knocked out, fingertips ghosting the lacy edges. sometimes even tucks her hand under your waistband and falls asleep like that.

౨ৎ sleeptalks filth, whimpering your name. “just a taste, babe, please…” then wakes up with her boxers wet and pretends not to remember what the dream was about... even after orgasming three times in her sleep.

౨ৎ grinds in her sleep, needy little humps against the fat of your ass with her arm locked around your waist.

౨ৎ asks if she can nap between your legs, then accidentally falls asleep face-first against your pussy, arms slung around your thighs like you’re some kind of personal mattress.

౨ৎ cries if you don’t let her eat you out when you’re on your period, tells you she’s just spiritually cleansing you from the inside out and that “real love is messy.”

౨ৎ watches old videos of you gagging around her strap when you’re not home, whispering “that’s my fuckin’ wife” while she jerks herself to tears. in her defence, she’s a proud wife.

౨ৎ offers to shave your pussy for you but keeps “accidentally” bumping her knuckles against your clit between passes. “oops,” she drawls, fingers already prying your lips open.

౨ৎ tucks her strap into her boxers before bed, praying you’ll climb on and use her while she’s still asleep.

౨ৎ gets lowkey jealous of your vibrator, calls it names under her breath, and once threw it across the room because it made you come faster than she did (she set a timer). later apologized. to you, not the vibrator.

౨ৎ refuses to wash her face after you sit on it.

౨ৎ makes you sign odd contracts before sex as a joke, but they’re full of “i allow ellie to smell my armpits as much as she wants” and “ellie owns my socks now.”

౨ৎ remembers what you wore on your first date, and gets genuinely mad if you ever try to throw it away.

౨ৎ has an entire notes app filled with your old texts. every compliment you’ve ever given her, she’s written down and reads them back when her brain starts lying again. she even keeps little stolen moments trapped in polaroids of you, tucked in corners of the house.

౨ৎ makes sims of the two of you, builds fake lives, and gets jealous if sim-you flirts with npcs.

౨ৎ gets genuinely upset when you don’t tag her in italian brainrot reels or spam her with random tiktoks. “so you got a side chick, huh?”

౨ৎ says “i would’ve loved you in every lifetime,” with such passion it feels like a threat. “if your soul was reincarnated into a cockroach, i’d still marry you.”

౨ৎ shuts down for ten full minutes when you say someone else is funny, then tries to make you laugh harder just to “win” you back. when it doesn’t work, she sits there questioning everything she’s ever said to you.

౨ৎ claims she wants to be buried next to you when the day comes, and already has a google doc planning it. she showed it to you once at 2am and cried when you laughed.

౨ৎ keeps the tag from the first hoodie you ever bought her, tucked in her wallet like a family heirloom.

౨ৎ snoops through your childhood photo albums not to judge you, but to fall deeper in love with the little version of you she never got to meet :( 

౨ৎ refuses to delete your old voicemails, even if they’re just about picking up milk. she has them backed up on a usb, just in case.

౨ৎ stalks your spotify activity. you listen to one breakup song and she’s immediately texting, “you okay?” all concerned like she didn’t just have a mini mental breakdown five minutes before sending that.

౨ৎ laminated screenshots of your first convo and hid them in her guitar case. when you laughed, she deadass called you toxic and didn’t speak to you until you apologized.

౨ৎ has a secret scrapbook of you, but is too shy to show you because it’s full of stolen receipts, screenshots, and the wrapper from the first snack you shared.

౨ৎ gets real quiet real fast every time you say “i need space.” (even if you just mean the couch.) her poor brain goes straight to divorce → abandonment → enemy arc unlocked.

౨ৎ asks every six months if you’d still love her if she lost all her limbs, and takes your answer very seriously.

౨ৎ tugs on your necklace while you’re talking, dragging you closer mid-sentence just to kiss you quiet, “you talk too pretty to ignore.”

౨ৎ cups your tits from under your shirt while you’re watching tv, just to keep her palms full and use them as stress balls.

౨ৎ gets pouty if you roll away from her mid-sleep, grumbling “rude” under her breath and spoons you aggressively out of spite. 

౨ৎ pretends to be asleep just to see if you’ll touch her, and if you do brush her hair or stroke her side, she’s smiling into the pillow like a pathetic loser.

౨ৎ starts overthinking the moment you seem distant, even if it’s just work stress. she spirals in silence, convinced she’s done something wrong, and won’t say anything until you pry it out of her. “you’re not bored of me, right?”

౨ৎ compares herself to every girl you follow, scrolling through their pages late at night with a pit in her stomach, wondering if they’re more your type than she is. spoiler: they’re not.

౨ৎ pulls away when she’s insecure, even though she craves your touch more than anything. she goes cold, starts sleeping on the edge of the bed until you notice (you always notice). she doesn’t ask for reassurance right away, but instead she drops weird hints “you don’t have to stay with me, you know,” or “if you ever wanted someone else, i’d get it.”

౨ৎ packs your lunch with dumb sticky notes saying “eat this or i’ll cry.”

౨ৎ used to call you her wife even before she proposed, and even now, years later, she still asks if you wanna grow old together, adding a little scared “if that’s okay” at the end that breaks your heart all over again.

[riricatria]

Helloo~

"Moments of Weakness" as in the reader taking L's left and right by being uncooperative with the yanderes. This idea was cooking up in my mind for a long time, and then I got heavily inspired by @thehatboxwitch for the post, specifically this one. I ate that up, such a good piece, mwah (づ ̄ ³ ̄)づ

The Amphoreus men and Jiaoqiu? Yes, I know, odd combo. I was done with the first three but then I got an insane inspo surge to write for the fox man as well, and thus this piece was born. I haven't really written short-form content ever, so this is like a test run for me. Let me know if you vibe with it!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Characters include: Mydei, Anaxa, Phainon and Jiaoqiu

CONTENT WARNINGS INCLUDE: Yandere content (ALTHOUGH this is not on the heavy end of the spectrum. It's kind of fluffy), cisfem!Reader, unwanted touching, manipulation, the JQ one has periods and a vague mention of sexual stuff (but nothing explicit).

Disclaimers can be found in my pinned post.

˗ˏˋ ★ Mydei

You wake up on the cold, hard floor of your room in the high tower of Castrum Kremnos. Judging from the limited view you have of the sky through the window, the time must be somewhere between midnight and the early hours of the morning. 

You’ve barely been able to get any sleep at all, truth to be told. The piece of clothing you gathered into a ball hardly served as a substitute for a pillow, and your neck has gone painfully stiff from the odd position you have rested in. Your back aches, and a faint rash has formed on one of your shoulders where it has been pressed against the coarse ground. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows. In the darkness, you’re only able to make out the silhouette of the man lying on the bed. Mydei’s back is turned to you, and his body steadily heaves up and down in the rhythm of his breathing. He seems to be fast asleep. 

The soft, plump mattress has never looked as tempting as it does now. Your shared comforter is partially hanging off the side of the bed, drooping just out of your reach. 

In hindsight, the obstinacy you demonstrated earlier tonight by demanding to sleep on the floor was beyond ridiculous. Mydei let you know that then, telling you how childish you were being, but your pride got the best of you. Though, as you recall his harsh words and the dour clicks of his tongue, you’re still of the opinion that your reaction was at least somewhat justified. 

You rub your hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm yourself up. Not having been granted the luxury of a blanket on the floor, your extremities have gone cold and numb. Shivers of nightly fatigue rake your skin. You huff to yourself.

Mydei’s form stirs. He lets out a rough exhale before turning over on the bed to face you. His piercing gaze fixates on your pitiful form. 

”Stubborn woman”, he derides you in a groggy voice, propping his head up to rest it against his palm. ”You prefer to suffer rather than swallow your pride?”

”Shut up”, you answer with equal spite. 

”Get in the bed and rest your night peacefully”, he then commands, sweeping his fingers over the empty spot next to him. 

”I said shut up, Mydei.” 

You fluff up your make-shift pillow and settle back down on the ground, turning your back to the man. Despite the way the reddened patch on your shoulder aches, you simply tug your sleeve over it and call it a day. 

Mydei scoffs at you before rolling back over. You silently celebrate the small win, but you can’t deny the way your fatigue-struck mind weeps when you peek at him and come to find that he has pulled the comforter further away from you. The action is deliberate on his end, no doubt, and you can’t help but clench your teeth in bitterness. 

You’re so tired. You’re so fucking tired, but there’s no way you’re going to let him have what he wants. Mydei truly excels at bringing out your mean side: Pleasing him is the last thing you want to do, and if that comes at the cost of sleeping on the ground, so be it. You settle your head on the clump of cloth and close your eyes. 

But there’s no chance you’re going to get any sleep as you are. The truth is quite apparent, and it stings, but the sheer exhaustion you feel is dulling out the little wrath that remains in your being. 

Not even a minute after, you slowly push yourself off the floor, careful not to make any sound. Not that you actually succeed in the latter — Mydei could probably even hear your heartbeat from where he’s lying if he tried hard enough — but it’s more for your own sake than his, anyway. 

Judging from how he has gone back to resting, he’s probably weary enough not to get mean. You cautiously rise on your toes to peek over him, trying to catch a glimpse of his face, but you’re unable to determine if his eyes are open or not. 

The mattress dips as you set your weight on it. You stifle a sigh of relief as you finally get to bury your head in the thick cushions, to pull the covers over your freezing form and soon allow yourself to drift into a deep slumber. Though, a wrench is thrown in your plans as you’re only able to get the comforter halfway across your body: The thing is stuck under Mydei’s broad back. 

He doesn’t move an inch as you wordlessly tug on the blanket. It’s quite obvious that he’s being difficult on purpose, that he wants to make his point as much as you want to make yours, and damn is it getting to you. 

”Mydei”, you hiss out his name. 

He doesn’t react. If you didn’t know better, you would think that he has fallen asleep again, but taking the context into account, you’re a hair’s breadth away from snapping at him. 

”Mydei!” you repeat a little louder, smacking your hand against the pillows, right next to his head. No response. 

”Mydei, for fuck’s sake-!”

Your sentence is cut short as the man suddenly lunges at you, catching you completely off guard. The strained yelp you let out is muffled by his bare chest as he pulls your body flush against his. In a split second, his arms wrap around your back, effectively trapping you in place. 

His skin is searing hot against yours. The hem of your shirt is dragged up as he plants the palm of his hand on your upper back. For good measure, he swings one of his legs over yours to keep you still. All of it happens in a single moment, and he doesn’t grant you the time to do anything about it. 

You consider protesting. There’s no escaping Mydei’s squeeze; his hold is much too tight, but he might give up the fight if you put up enough resistance. You could scratch at him, you could start screeching at the bottom of your lungs, and eventually, he would be bound to become irritated enough to let you sleep on your own. 

But the warmth. The heat that emanates from his form is nearly blissful. It seeps into your frigid limbs, lulling your sleep-deprived mind into the comfort that is his protective embrace. Your body turns against you. 

You allow your shoulders to fall lax. Slowly, your hands pull back from where they were shoving against Mydei’s ribs mere moments ago. In response to your new-found obedience, he strokes his thumb along the curve of your shoulder blade, further encouraging you to relax against him. He lets out a content exhale against the crown of your head. 

In the back of your mind, your ego is sobbing at the loss of yet another battle against your captor. Nevertheless, you let yourself sink into the comfort of the bed, deciding to save the fight for when the morning arrives. 

˗ˏˋ ★ Phainon

There’s something off about his usual smile today. The way he’s looking at you from where he leans against the wall with his arms leisurely crossed, there’s something off. His gaze is fixed directly on you, keenly following your every movement as if he’s expecting something of you. 

”... What?” you ask him, peering at his form, though your words come out as more of a comment than a question. 

”Hm?” he tilts his head to the side with a tad bit too much excitement in his expression. ”What’s up?”

Your brows knit together. Doubting his sincerity, you’re almost scared to turn your back to him as you scan the room with your eyes. Although, after a quick look, nothing too obvious seems to have changed: You let your gaze wander over the couch, the bed, the door, the-

”Phainon, what happened to the chairs?” you point at the vacant spot under the table. 

”Ah, those!” Phainon pushes himself off the wall and walks over to the bed, sitting down with one leg propped atop the other. ”I put them in the kitchen.”

You squint your eyes at the man. 

”And why would you do that?” you gesture at the now empty floor. 

”Mm, no reason.”

Phainon shrugs in a rather innocent manner, but the smile on his features tells an entirely different story. So, you continue scrutinizing your surroundings, carefully looking over each and every piece of furniture until your eyes land on the nightstand beside the bed. 

”The book?” you turn your attention back to the man. ”Where did you put the book?”

”Oh, I put it up there”, Phainon responds, nudging his head towards the bookshelf beside the door. 

You follow his gaze all the way up the highest ledge on the shelf, and there, you spot the familiar piece of Okheman literature you’ve been invested in for the past couple of days. As you put the puzzle pieces together, Phainon’s scheme becomes quite apparent to you. 

”... Really?” you ask him, spreading your arms in disbelief. 

”Hey, don’t be like that”, Phainon gives you a sympathetic look. ”Do you need help reaching it?”

You let your hands fall back to your sides. Then, you close your eyes and take in a deep breath to calm the exasperation that threatens to boil over inside you. Instead of lashing out, you silently make your way over to the shelf and pick out a random piece. 

”I’m good, thanks”, you tell Phainon in a dry tone. 

”Oh, alright”, he gives you a smile in response. ”Let me know if you change your mind.”

You roll your eyes at him. Making your way over to the couch, you plop down on the cushions and open the book on the first page. 

It’s in a completely foreign language. You don’t understand a single word plastered on the paper, but it’s much too late to put the thing back on the shelf now. Even without looking, you know that Phainon’s attention is on you, and you don’t dare to even glance at him to make sure in case he gets any ideas. You wonder what Aeon you have angered to have been granted such rotten luck when it comes to standing your ground: It seems that no matter what you do, he always gets his way. 

You don’t even know if you’re holding the book the right way up. The symbols are all squiggly, and you don’t have as much as an educated guess on what the text is about. A sigh makes it past your lips. If there’s anything positive to be found in the situation, though, it’s that most likely, Phainon is none the wiser about it. Why he even has a book like this in his home, you don’t have the slightest clue. Moreover, he doesn’t seem like the type to read in his free time, either, so the chances of him recognizing the cover are quite low — at least you hope so. 

You make the mistake of peeking at him. Sure enough, the couple of bright blue eyes are eagerly observing you from where the guy is sitting on the sheets. His gaze doesn’t fail to meet yours for a brief moment just as you turn your head away. 

Time has never moved at such a slow speed. The seconds drag on and on as you pretend to be invested in the intelligible story in your hands. You let your eyes travel over the rows of characters as if you were actually reading, but you can’t help the way your attention strays to the sight of your original novel sitting at the top shelf, far out of your reach. With each moment passing, the little patience you have left drains out of your body until you have none left. 

You smack the book down on the couch with a huff. Phainon visibly perks up, and you can almost imagine a fluffy tail wagging wildly against his back. 

”I changed my mind”, you speak out, standing up from your spot and walking over to the shelf. ”Help me get the book.”

”Sure thing”, Phainon is quick to rush to your side. ”I thought Kremnoan poems might not be to your taste, heh.”

You bite the inside of your lip and pray to whatever deity is watching over you that the blush isn’t visible on your cheeks.

”This one, right?” Phainon rises on his toes to pick the familiar hardcover from the top ledge before handing it to you. ”There you go. What do we say?” 

”I’m not gonna thank you for that”, you snap at him, snatching the thing off his hand and pulling it to your chest.

”Too much?” Phainon answers the show of defiance with a smile. ”Heh, you’re so cute.”

You flinch a little as his hand lands on the top of your head, ruffling your hair until it resembles a bird’s nest. His touch then trails lower to your cheek where he strokes his knuckles along the bone. 

”My pretty thing”, he sighs with contentment. 

˗ˏˋ ★ Anaxa

Never in your life have you had to fight this hard to stay awake. Not once, at any point, have you been this determined not to let your lashes fall shut as you listen to Anaxa yap on and on about some academic discovery he made a year or two ago. Truth to be told, you haven’t been listening to a single word, and you don’t have the faintest idea on what he’s going on about. 

Your train of thought is so sluggish that you’re barely aware of your surroundings, and your head is throbbing hot. In contrast, the rest of your body is shivering, practically trembling from the cold. It doesn’t seem to be the room, though: Anaxa doesn’t appear to be the least bit bothered by the temperature, having stripped himself of the cloak he usually wears. You would like nothing more than to burrow under the blankets on your shared bed and sleep for the next three days. 

But you have to stay awake. He promised that if you were to stay up until 10, the two of you could go for a quick walk in the Grove. He hasn’t ”had time” to take you outside in nearly a week now, and you’re not about to miss a chance like this. Being trapped in a small space and forced to endure the man’s presence is a challenge in a league of its own, and if you were a person of any weaker resolve, you would’ve gone insane ages ago. 

”— and that would be the reason why”, he concludes.

The last two minutes of his monologue could as well have been spoken to a wall. It’s difficult to concentrate on his words through the haze that drowns out your senses. Your muscles ache terribly, and your entire body is drenched in clammy sweat. You feel so miserable that the thought of giving up the fight seems almost euphoric, but you’re not about to back down now that you’re mere moments away from the clock striking the next hour. The victory is so close that you can almost feel the fresh, crisp outside air on your skin. It’s only a few more minutes away; a few more minutes of holding out against falling off your chair. 

Anaxa’s hand enters your field of view where you’ve been blankly staring at the table for the past half an hour. He taps his index finger against the wood to catch your attention, and it takes you a good few seconds to even register the action. You raise your gaze, slowly blinking a couple of times before your eyes land on his form.

”Can we go now...?” you ask him. As desperately as you’re trying to hide it, your voice tells on your fatigue as you speak. 

”We agreed on 10 PM, did we not?” Anaxa tilts his head to the side, towards the clock on the wall. 

You don’t have the energy to talk back to him. He’s so infuriatingly punctual when it comes to just about anything that you wonder how the pink-haired priestess is able to stand his company for more than a minute. You only give him a half-hearted, joyless smile in response before going back to staring. He sighs. 

Anaxa’s chair creaks as he stands up and walks out of your sight. You pull your knees up on your seat, pressing yourself into a little ball in order to preserve the little warmth you have left in your body. You don’t dare to close your eyes even for a moment in case the fatigue were to catch up with you. Instead, you remain in your spot, as still as a statue and barely conscious.

A cold hand comes to touch your shoulder from behind. You’re much too slow to turn around before your vision is obscured as he reaches for your face. Gently, he gathers your hair off your forehead and presses his fingers against your heated skin. 

”How long were you planning on keeping this facade of yours up?” he then asks, his hand moving a little lower in favour of checking both sides of your cheeks as well. 

You don’t respond to him. Instead, you only let out a quiet sigh.

It’s obvious; you’re running a sky-high fever. There’s no way of getting around it — the best remedy to a sickness such as this is rest — however, your desire to go outside is much greater than any flu you have caught. 

”I’m feeling okay”, you lie through your teeth, bending forward in order to rid yourself of his touch. 

”Preposterous”, Anaxa comments in his usual, stark tone of voice. Not paying mind to how you’re clearly trying to withdraw from him, he moves the collar of your shirt aside in favour of pressing his hand against the back of your neck, feeling for the temperature. ”One such as you ought to know better than this, no?”

”I can wait until 10”, you insist. 

”Is that so?” 

He pulls away from you. You follow him with your eyes, watching as he makes his way to the door in quick strides. 

”Well, then”, he beckons you towards him with his fingers. ”Let’s be on our way.”

You grasp the back of your chair with both hands, summoning up the strength to see the endeavour through. Your entire body trembles as you begin pushing yourself off the seat. 

Anaxa observes with curious eyes as you manage to balance yourself on your wobbly legs. For a moment, he can see the way your face lights up at the success, but your joy is short-lived: He merely quirks his brow when one of your knees gives out, and you topple down on the floor a mere meter away from the table. 

He lets out a mix of a huff and a laugh. You’re quick to scramble back up, trying your absolute best to find your footing, but the sight of him is spinning, and your limbs have gone numb. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for you to slump back down on the ground, defeated. 

You don’t do as much as raise your head when you hear the clack of his heels approaching you. Instead, you only listen to your own, rapid heartbeat rushing in your ears as Anaxa crouches down beside you and sets his hand on your waist. Carefully, he helps your limp form off the ground and snakes his arm under your own.

”The walk shall have to wait, it seems”, he says, failing to do a very good job at concealing his glee. 

”But you-, you promised that we could...”, you protest, wearily turning your head towards the clock on the wall. It’s a minute past 10. 

”Do you truly think you’re in any state to even entertain that idea?” Anaxa scoffs at your words. ”Go on, then.”

He loosens his hold on you, and you immediately reel to the side. Just to make his point even more clear, he lets you attempt to find your balance, but it’s a futile effort. You end up clinging onto his shoulder for dear life. A mocking chuckle slips out of his mouth. 

”I thought as much”, he says. 

You really want to bite back, to go through with the plan, to go walk a single circle around the house even if it lands you in the bed for the next month. You need to, for once, prove him wrong, but alas, it seems that he has won this round. You swallow down the lump in your throat. 

”Help me”, you whisper out, hanging your head low. 

”This once”, he responds.

˗ˏˋ ★ Jiaoqiu

You’re balled up on the bathroom floor, clutching your arms around your stomach. Beads of sweat adorn your forehead, and despite your efforts, you’re hardly able to control the rhythm of your breathing. The time of the month has rolled around yet again, and for the past two hours, you’ve been battling perhaps the worst period cramps of your entire life. 

You’re aware that if you so wished, the relief to the pain would be a single question away. Jiaoqiu is just on the other side of the door, working on some herbs or something, you’re not really sure. Considering his Foxian blood, he most likely knows of what’s going on, but the damned man won’t do anything about it, of course. Not unless you walk up to him yourself and ask for his help, anyway. 

Another cramp takes over. You stifle a groan and lean forward, planting your forehead against the cold floor tiles. In the awkward position, you rock your body back and forth until the pain diminishes to a little less excruciating level. 

It’s quite obvious that you can’t go on much longer like this. As much as you detest the idea of leaning on your captor for help, he’s the only one who can aid you. You wonder if he has hidden the painkillers from you for this exact purpose: The man is as sly as, well, a fox, and no trick is too cheap for him when it comes to getting you where he wants you. He’s beyond unfair. 

You blurt out a hushed curse word as you rise from the ground, hunched over and still holding your abdomen. Taking a peek at the mirror, you come to find that your face has lost its colour, and you look like you haven’t rested in a week. The latter is no wonder, though, since you weren’t able to get much sleep last night due to the present problem. 

Being as quiet as you’re able, you press your ear against the door. There isn’t much to be heard on the other side of the wall, but you can make out the faint clinking of dishes touching against each other. Jiaoqiu has been busy conducting the same task the entire morning, and it seems that he’s still occupied with it. Dread brews in your stomach as you consider the possibility that he’ll outright refuse to help you: Considering his personality, it’s not above him, and it wouldn’t be the first time he weaponized matters out of your control.

”Aren’t you making this unnecessarily difficult for yourself?” 

Your heart jumps at the sound of his voice from behind the door. How he could have heard you, you don’t know, but then again, his kin is known for their keen ears. Moreover, you realize that there’s no hiding your current condition from him: Your options are either-or, and the responsibility of taking the initiative seems to have landed in your arms. 

Yet another cramp strains your body. You clench your teeth and endure the pain, but at the same time, your hand reaches up for the door handle. Deciding that enough is enough, you push yourself out of the bathroom. 

”Oh, there you are”, Jiaoqiu comments at the sight of you faltering out of your retreat. He can’t actually see you, of course, but his head still turns towards you as if he did. 

”Give me something”, you beg through pursed lips as you fold in half over the threshold. ”Please give me something for this.”

Jiaoqiu’s expression turns into that of compassion, although you can’t say for sure if it’s genuine. 

”One moment, please”, he says, setting the mortar and pestle in his hands on the tabletop.

He opens one of the cabinets above the counter and reaches for something in the back. Carefully, he pulls out a small bowl from between a row of bottles. By tilting the dish from side to side, he stirs the concoction until a few darker specks appear on the liquid’s surface. Then, he brings his hand over it, and in a flash, the thing lights up in flames. However, just as quickly, the fire disappears, and he’s left with a cup of steaming hot soup. 

”I tried to go easy on the spice”, he says as he fans his fingers over the bowl. ”It’s quite warm, be careful not to burn your tongue.”

He makes his way over to where you’re balled up on the ground. With a gentle touch, he coaxes you to raise your head enough for him to place the dish against your lips before tilting the cup. 

It’s good. The rich liquid flows down your throat as you drink it with greed, paying very little mind to how the heat scorches your mouth. He didn’t lie about being mindful of the seasoning — it’s much less spicy than what you’re usually forced to endure — but your taste buds are still left begging for mercy. Nonetheless, you couldn’t care less, and the soup is gone in a matter of seconds. 

”It should only take a few minutes to kick in”, Jiaoqiu says as he pulls the now empty bowl away from your lips. ”How are you feeling?” 

Bad, terrible, deplorable, godawful, but you don’t tell him that. Instead, you only let out a shaky exhale as you slump back down on the ground. 

You feel Jiaoqiu’s fingers creep along the waistline of your bottoms. For a brief, horrific moment, you think he’s about to initiate the carnal, but instead of slipping his hand further down, he lets it rest over your lower abdomen. 

”Is it in the middle or more towards one side?” he asks as he tenderly presses his palm against your stomach, warm and pleasant. 

”Hey, don’t-, don’t...”, you’re about to start protesting, but the complaint dies on your tongue as the man’s touch dulls down the worst of the ache. 

He seems pleased at your compliance, and he rewards you by caressing the back of your head with his free hand. For once, his closeness doesn’t feel completely intolerable.

[hungrydata]

Ok so, ik I'm busy, but I can't NOT talk about the new episode. So...

SPOILER WARNING FOR EPISODE 5 OF THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS

I won't write an essay now, but holy gosh moly. This episode was great. And I hate that it ends with a cliffhanger. But it makes sense since Goose said that eps 5&6 were focused on both Jax & Ragatha, so they are very likely tied together (hopefully we don't have to wait another 6 months, but you also can't rush art of course)

I also don't want to break down the episode, there are people who can do that way better than me. I just wanna talk about some fun stuff.

First of all, I tried my best to figure out what everbody's saying here (Only Jax is subtitled in english, however the other two are as well in other languages, so I used them if I had difficulties with what they're saying):

everything I am not 100% sure about or was roughly translated via the different language subtitles, is written in brackets

JAX: I very much did not enjoy that one in the slightest. If we ever do anything even close to that again, I'm getting violent, and I'm going to kill Ragatha.

GANGLE: Uh... I... don't really think it [brought out the best in me], even if it [was the cause of my mask].

RAGATHA: Oh, I really do not think [I was that innocent at] that time, I [did release] (?) some things I normally never say.

I know that some of this is not accurate or something is missing, but it's really difficult to understand what Ragatha and Gangle are saying. Therefore if you know anything, help is very much appreciated!

_______________________________________________

Now I wanna talk about rather obscure stuff. Like Kinger being right handed. I never posted anything about it, but I discussed with my friend about what each circus member's dominant hand was (bc I was bored, can you blame me?) and while I still think that the animators just use whatever looks good and can bring the message across the best (like Gangle sometimes drawing with her left hand and with her right hand, based on what perspective we view her, or how basically most characters use their left and right hand for difficult tasks equally, just so that the viewers can see it better, and it's probably easier to animate as well if you don't have to think about it)

Anyways, Kinger is right handed confirmed to me. (Jax is left handed, tho I need to rewatch all episodes and shorts on Glitch's channel to get more information about that, same with the other chars, tho I'm 98% convinced that both Jax and Gangle are left handed, tho that might just be delusion idk)

Btw the Anime and Intermission section were beautiful. Now we know why it took so long, but it was definitely worth it.

Also RIBBUN AND MAID DRESS HALLELUJAH!

ngl this looks funny

I feel like the shippers are going crazy with this one, especially people who ship Funnybunny (and the Bunnydoll Nation is either in shambles or enjoy it as much as the time Ragatha got deep fried.)

As a Ribbun enjoyer, I am definitely eating the toxic crumbs up like Jax did eat Gangle. Also thank you Goose for giving us so many great catchphrases that I am going to use from now on.

Also, THE LORE. And why can I genuinely relate so much with Jax. Why. Idk how to feel about this. And he actually cares let's gooo!

And I gotta say. Love the beef between Jax and Ragatha, and I also like the friendship between Jax and Pomni that slowly but surely develops. I also like the detail that here, Pomni votes against the maid dress. I could imagine that she just thinks it's childish, but it's also a sign that she knows Jax would hate it and wouldn't want to stir chaos.

ALSO HE SAID THE LINE HE SAID THE LINE!

You detached it yourself, idiot.

Welp I'm outta pictures to post here. There's alot more like Jax having a friend that looks like a frog, and Goose mentioned in one post that the person that abstracted before Kaufmo was called Ribbit (yk, like the sound a frog makes). I thinke there's likely a connection. And considering that Pomni was supposed to be a frog first, maybe that's how Jax and Pomni also will become closer friends. Can't wait for the next episode

And knowing what Goose said, it's not gonna be a wholesome one. After all, even tho 5&6 are split between Ragatha and Jax, this was still the Ragatha episode, and the next one will be "more centered" around Jax. I'm scared.

Also as much as it pains me, I think Gangle will be the one to abstract. The fact that she didn't have an evil doppelganger and with the teaser of her symbol loading, it's too much of a coincidence to not happen. Pls don't Gangle you're my baby ;;-;;.

(so much so to "not an essay" lmao. "Not an essay" my ass)

Also. DaY 172 bc yes

[em1i2a3]

Something Human

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob loves to watch you cook because he is practically incapable of making something edible–apart from baked goods. One evening you ask if he wants to help, and he reluctantly takes you up on that offer.

Warnings: No warnings, just a really small domestic fluff blurb (reader and bob aren’t in a relationship)

Author’s Note: After writing a crap ton of smut this week (and with more coming today and this weekend with RAF and my other stuff lol), I thought I’d take a little break with something cute. Maybe I’ll make it a series (Domestic Fluff Fridays! HA!) Anyways, thank you for reading as usual <3 In addition to that this one’s quite short because tomorrow’s post is super heavy and long (ha that’s what she said), and I just wanted some lightness to cut the rest of my stuff lol.

Word Count: 3,019

The garlic hit the pan first–minced fine, nearly beaten to a paste, added just as the oil began to simmer. It bloomed on contact, sizzling loud and bright, sending up an instant wave of scent: sharp and golden, the kind that made your eyes sting just slightly even before the heat reached them. The olive oil danced around the edges of the pan, spitting softly as the garlic turned fragrant and gold. You tilted the skillet just enough to coat everything evenly before adding the onion.

The thin half-moons were sliced with deliberate precision as you scattered them into the pan like fallen petals. The sound shifted to a deeper hiss, a slower sizzle as the moisture met heat. Their clean, vegetal bite softened within seconds, releasing something sweeter, something rounder. You didn’t stir right away. You just let them catch a little, the edges flirting with caramelization, until the first signs of browning peeked through the translucent layers.

The air grew heavier, denser with steam. Brown butter clung thick to the base of the pan now, dark and nutty, layering beneath the garlic and onion. You added the rosemary with a firm crush between your fingers–needles bruised, oils released–and the scent deepened, earthy and pine-sharp. Then came the tomato paste, a deep red dollop scraped onto the hot metal with the back of your spoon. It seared instantly, sticking for a heartbeat before surrendering, caramelizing into a darker, more complex version of itself.

Your hands moved on muscle memory alone.

The cutting board in front of you was already a mess of progress: stems stripped clean of their leaves, curls of lemon zest pale and waxy in the warm light, and scattered flecks of red chili clinging stubbornly to the heel of your knife. You worked through it all methodically–thunk, scrape, thunk–the rhythm steady and grounding. Your elbows stayed tucked in close to your ribs, blade gliding clean, your foot tapping gently on the tile in time with your slicing.

Every movement was its own kind of meditation. A ritual to smooth the static that lingered after hours of training and debriefs. The ache in your shoulder from being knocked into the mat still throbbed faintly beneath your collarbone, but the pain was distant now, blurred by steam and scent and focus. Here, in this space, your thoughts slowed. Here, you weren’t a weapon or a soldier–you were just someone cooking dinner.

You reached for a wooden spoon without looking, stirring the tomato paste through the softened onions and garlic, watching as the colour deepened into a rich amber-red now. The edges hissed as they caught again on the bottom of the pan, and you deglazed it with a splash of broth–just enough to lift in a single savoury cloud.

Then you heard it.

The soft scrape of metal legs against tile–hesitant, careful, and all too familiar.

You smirked, not turning at the sound, “There’s my audience of one.” There was a pause, then the slow creak of him settling onto the stool behind you, “You’re late,” You added glancing at the clock on the stove with mock sternness.

Bob let out a quiet, breathy laugh, almost sheepish, “Go–Got caught up with laundry.” You looked over your shoulder then, and there he was.

Perched in his usual spot on the other side of the kitchen island, hair damp and tied up from a recent shower, his hoodie wrinkled like it had been pulled on too quickly and was left unfixed. His sleeves were bunched at the elbows, exposing his pale forearms, as he rested them on the countertop as he leaned forward, posture relaxed but his expression was anything but that. His eyes were already locked on your hands, trailing every motion–how you stirred, how you scraped down the sides of the pan, how you worked with a kind of quiet authority that never demanded attention, but always held it.

He did this every night…Or almost every night. Sometimes you’d just be toasting bread, layering together a lazy sandwich, and you’d still catch the shuffle of his footsteps, the gentle weight of his gaze. There was something about the way you handled food–no matter how simple–that seemed to draw him in like gravity. And by now, you knew it wasn’t just hunger that fueled him to watch you, he just wanted to be around you.

Bob wasn’t watching to critique or assess. He wasn’t weighing your worth or noting your reflexes. He was just there, quietly absorbing every motion, like he didn’t want to miss a single second of something that made him feel a little more human.

You didn’t mind performing when the audience was just him.

He’d become your taste tester almost by accident, but now you couldn’t imagine cooking without handing him the spoon first. He had a good palate–gentle, observant. He always paused before answering, always really thought about the flavours. And you trusted him. Not just his taste buds, but the soft, earnest weight of his opinion.

Tonight was no different.

You felt his eyes tracking the arc of your spoon as you stirred the pan again, coaxing the sauce into silk with a slow, practiced motion. He was quiet for a long moment, hands clasped on the countertop like he didn’t want to interrupt the rhythm, even with a breath.

Then, finally:

“Wh–What’re you making?” He asked softly, like he was afraid to break the spell.

You glanced over your shoulder again, catching the faint curve of a hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His brows were still knit slightly, as if concentrating on not fidgeting too much in your presence. You noticed a slight cut just below his lip–probably from shaving but you didn’t question.

”Just some pasta sauce for right now, prepping it for when everyone starts coming back from their briefings.” You returned your gaze to the pan, letting the sauce bubble low and slow beneath your spoon. It was smoothing out now, deepening in flavor with each gentle stir. Behind you, Bob shifted a little in his seat.

“It sm–smells really good,” He complimented, voice softer than the steam. You smirked faintly, turning the spoon once more.

“Well, thank you…” There was a pause. Then, without missing a beat, “Can you grab some heavy cream from the fridge for me?” You heard the soft thud of him standing–no hesitation. The familiar patter of socked feet over tile, then the subtle suction-pop of the fridge opening. You didn’t turn around, just kept stirring until the bubbling evened into a low, warm hum.

“Here you go,” He said, and you felt the chilled carton brush lightly against your hand. You took it out of his quickly, giving him a nod.

“Thank you.” You offered him the spoon. “Hold this for me?”

He blinked down at it, then nodded with a quiet, “Yeah–ye–yeah, of course.” His fingers curled carefully around the handle, knuckles brushing yours. Now that he was close, the scent of his hoodie hit you–fresh and clean and strong with lavender detergent, the kind of smell that stuck to warm fabric straight from the dryer. It made your chest tighten just a little.

He held the spoon upright like he was guarding the pan, eyes focused on you as you poured the heavy cream in a slow stream over the bubbling rue of tomato paste and fixins. The transformation was instant–the deep red turned a creamy orange, blooming in soft swirls like marble as it thickened. You gently took the spoon back from his hand, fingertips grazing his knuckles again.

Thinking that he was dismissed he turned to go back to his designated spot, before your voice intervened on his actions.

”Want to help?” He stopped mid-step, shoulders tensing slightly.

”Oh…Oh n-no, I’ll end up ruining it.” You rolled your eyes as you adjusted the heat, setting the sauce to a gentle simmer.

“You think Michelin star chefs never made mistakes while they were learning how to cook?” He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up onto his cheeks.

”Well, ye-yeah, of course they did…But I’ll end up ruining what ev-everyone else is supposed to eat.” You let out a small laugh.

”I’ll take the fall if you ruin it. I’m not gonna throw you under the bus, Bob.” That made him pause. You saw it in his eyes, the way they slightly softened at your tone–at the reassurance, like he wasn’t used to hearing that someone had his back when it came to the small things.

“Now…” You said, pointing your spoon at him, “Go grab the red cutting board and take the chicken breast out of the fridge.” His lashes fluttered, startled by the sudden promotion of responsibility.

“Yo–You’re gonna put me in charge of handling chicken when I could literally kill someone by accident because I gave them sa–salmonella if I do it wrong?” You tilted your head slowly, fighting the grin that threatened to appear on your lips.

“Bob,” You started, voice low with affectionate amusement, “I’m gonna be guiding you. Please refrain from overthinking.” He bit the inside of his cheek gently, then slowly he gave you the tiniest nod.

”Alright…” He went for the red cutting board first, gently pulling it out from where it leaned upright near the sink and setting it on the island, his lips pressed into a thin determined line. Then, he made his way to the fridge, opened it, and bent slightly–peering in with intent before pulling out the package of chicken breast still sealed in its plastic from the grocery run earlier in the day.

You watched him from your place at the stove, resting one hip against the counter, spoon in hand. The sauce behind you gave a lazy blurp as it simmered low and thick. The scent filled the kitchen now—cream and rosemary and tomato and garlic all melting into one indulgent cloud that curled through the open space like incense.

He returned, standing beside the cutting board, holding the package in both hands like he wasn’t entirely convinced it wouldn’t attack him.

“Alright,” you said, pushing off the counter and walking over, “First, we’re gonna open that up, and pat the chicken dry with a paper towel.” He nodded quickly, already grabbing the roll from beside the sink placing it next to him so it was at the ready. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him peel back the plastic, which made a little slimy noise.

“Gross.” He muttered under his breath.

“It’s just a noise, it’s not like it was the actual chicken.” You commented. As he blotted the chicken dry, you handed him a sharp knife, resting your hand gently on his wrist for a second.

”Don’t over think,” You said again, “Just follow my lead.” You showed him how to trim off the excess fat, where to hold the blade. You stayed close, your hand occasionally ghosting over his to steady his grip or adjust his angle–but to also have an excuse to touch him in general. His knuckles were tense, shoulders hunched slightly with the weight of focus. Every now and then, you’d glance back at the sauce and give it a stir, and when you returned, he’d still be there, right where you left him–pressing through the task with quiet determination.

It was nice, watching him like this.

Helping him.

For once, you weren’t the one being watched–you were the watcher, guiding instead of performing. There was something quietly intimate about it. The soft concentration on his face. The wrinkle between his brows. The way he bit the inside of his lip whenever he wasn’t sure what came next. You tried to make small talk, asking about his training, the book you saw in his room last week

But his answers were minimal. Not unfriendly–just…Brief. Distracted. So you decided to let the silence take over for a bit, just watching as he methodically trimmed the fat off with the focus only he could have for something that could be seen as simple to others.

“Good,” You murmured, leaning in to check his work, “That’s perfect. See? You’re doing fine.”

He didn’t answer, but his ears went pink. His focus stayed locked on the cutting board like one wrong move might reset the entire process.

You turned back to stir the sauce again, watching it thicken into something glossy and rich. The scent swelled even deeper now that the cream had steeped fully into the herbs. When you turned back, Bob was brushing the last of the trimmed fat into the waste bowl you’d placed beside him.

He turned toward you slightly, still holding the knife.

“What’s next?”

You gave him a small smile. “Slicing it. Wanna do that too?”

He hesitated just for a second before nodding. “Sure…Ye–Yeah, that would be okay.”

You picked up the chicken breast and demonstrated how thick the slices should be–steady, even pressure, angled slightly for better sear coverage. Then you passed the knife back, brushing his fingers again, before heading to the sink to wash your hands. He shifted to mimic your stance without needing to be told.

As you dried your hands, you leaned your hip against the counter, watching him resume. “How come you know how to bake but you never touched the art of cooking?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. His throat bobbed. He adjusted his grip and began cutting, shoulders rolling up with a small shrug.

“M–My mo–mother used to have a lot of recipe books in our house…” His voice was quiet, unsure, but he didn’t stop slicing. “She wasn’t a baker or anything, but… sometimes I wo–would read them. I just found that the in–instructions were easier. Less… guesswork.”

You hummed, folding your arms loosely over your chest. It wasn’t much, but it was more than he usually offered. He never talked about his family–not in a way that gave you anything solid. There were scattered mentions, the odd comment about his dad’s truck, his mom’s sweet tooth, but never anything that grounded them in the room with him.

“Because it’s straightforward, right?” You asked gently. “The measurements are right there, and if you follow them, it’s supposed to work.”

Bob let out a little laugh–barely more than a breath, but genuine.

“Yo–You know me very well, Y/N.”

You both chuckled softly. His tone wasn’t bashful so much as…Grateful. Like being known by you was something he didn’t expect to feel good but did. Deeply.

He finished the last slice and reached for the next chicken breast without prompting, his movements more fluid now.

“What about you?” he asked after a beat, glancing over. “How’d you get so good at cooking?”

You smirked, reaching behind you to stir the sauce with your wooden spoon. “Living in a house full of tactical assassins kind of forces you to be a good cook, so… I had no choice.”

He raised a brow, blade paused mid-air. “You’re talking about yo–your past team, right?”

You turned your head, a sly glint in your eye. “No, I’m talking about this team of burnouts.”

That got another quiet laugh out of him, this time with a small shake of his head. “You guys are definitely way better than them. Least you appreciate my cooking.”

You snorted as you swirled the spoon through the sauce. “They di–didn’t?” he asked, voice softer now, just a little tentative.

You shrugged, not meeting his eyes right away. “Everyone was always on the go. I was too, of course, but…They didn’t really have time to sit and appreciate it. We were all on different paths, so bonding wasn’t really put on the highest pedestal.”

Bob was quiet for a moment. You glanced over and saw that his hands had stilled, knife resting flat on the board. He was watching you now–not with pity, not with discomfort, just…With that same steady attention he always gave when he tasted something new and tried to memorize what made it special.

You didn’t mind the silence. If anything, it felt earned.

He returned to slicing, a little more focused than before.

You knew he liked learning about you–liked gathering all the little breadcrumbs you dropped, whether they were intentional or not. You were more open than most on the team, but even so, Bob never pushed. He always waited. Always listened. Like there were lines you’d drawn in invisible ink and he was afraid to smudge them by asking too much.

But you didn’t mind when he asked. You liked when he did.

“You’re doing good, by the way,” You said after a moment, voice lower, meant just for him.

His hands stilled again, and when he glanced up at you, his eyes were soft. “Thanks,” He said. “That…Means a lot coming from you.”

You smiled, warm and easy, then bumped his shoulder gently with your own.

“Now finish slicing those and we’ll get the skillet hot,” You teased. “Time to see if you can master the flip.”

“Oh no,” He muttered under his breath, but you caught the twitch of a grin at the edge of his mouth.

[likelysobbing]

walk with me now, juju and her gf arguing because juju hasn’t been around lately and reader gets tired of it, and they’ve been ignoring each since so to get her mind off of things her bsf takes her out to a party or smth, juju finds out and is mad because reader didn’t tell her where she was going, and a other stuff but idk what

𖥻 COLD COUCH. juju watkins x reader

reblogs + comments are more appreciated than likes.

synopsis: juju’s absence leaves nothing but a cold couch you wake up to and a hole in your heart that you try to fill—lucky for you, your girlfriend has common sense.

notes: hi lovely! i’m so sorry i got to this request so late, i thank you for your patience. juju and the reader don’t necessarily ignore eachother for long, but they definitely don’t speak for long enough to be concerned!!! this all happens in the span of one day because me thinks juju would never leave you with a heavy heart for too long… unless it’s toxic juju. but this isn’t toxic juju nonono … but anyways !!! i did my best to make your vision come true and i hope you enjoy it <3

cw: arguing, juju is a tiny bit conceited but guys she’s a celebrity, partying, reader drinks alcohol but not to the point it’s detrimental, kind of fast paced because i’m using dividers, reader and juju are both down bad in their own ways

juju has shit to do.

it can’t be helped, and you know that. she’s juju watkins— the face of women’s collegiate basketball, with multiple awards to show for it. but juju, in all ten months and fourteen days of being your girlfriend, has never once missed a date. she made sure to make time for you, always showing up and going an extra mile: flowers, ironed outfits, an extra clean car even though it’s already clean, and most of all—the biggest smile on her face. you loved that part the most; the telling sign she was happy to see you, to spend time with you, to relax.

you haven’t seen that smile in a while. that’s usually what occurs when you date a D1 athlete with like 20 NIL deals.

you haven’t seen that smile in a long time.

you thought you would be able to. you had texted juju two weeks ahead of time telling her to keep herself free today, tonight, and you had tore the internet apart finding the best recipes—subsequently ending up with a splitting headache from looking at the directions too much to make sure you followed them perfectly. perfect; that’s what you wanted this night to be. you’d greet juju with a kiss to her cheek and a tight hug, then you’d eat dinner, then you’d watch a movie, you’d cuddle— juju would fall asleep first, hopefully, and then you’d steal her hoodie because she always took off her hoodies whenever she wanted to cuddle with you. she’d pretend she didn’t know you stole it, and she’d leave the next morning feeling lighter in more ways than one. the first because she didn't have her hoodie on, and the second because you soothed her enough to, for once, just stay in the present.

you hoped you’d be able to bring her the peace you knew she deserved. you set up the table, and even had the blankets and pillows all ready. infact? netflix’s searchbar was already waiting—and as you plated juju’s portion of the dinner you hoped you cooked right, the only thing you were waiting for was juju.

juju, who should’ve been here by now.

did she get caught up in traffic? she should’ve texted about that. she hasn’t texted you at all today.

she hasn’t texted you a lot in general these past few weeks.

you sit on the edge of your kitchen counter despite the chair you already pulled out being right infront of you, because a part of you— your heart—does not want to sit alone. you scroll through your phone absentmindedly, until a notification snaps you out of your zone. it’s juju.

juju posted something on her story—another common mainstream logo in your face directly confirming it’s some sort of brand deal— and... wait, why would she be posting about brand deals? isn’t she supposed to be on her way to you right now? she said she’d be able to make it.

you search for answers.

you find out it wasn’t just a brand deal, but a brand trip. juju’s not even in the same area code as you right now. juju’s away.

you call her the moment that it clicks.

the phone rings for way too long, and you count the seventh ring before she picks up with an exasperated, “what? what is it?”

you don’t speak.

she repeats your name, impossibly more exasperated: “what is it? i’m on a cruise right now—“

“your food is cold.” you say, simply. there is silence on the other line and you don’t know if it is from realization and subsequent guilt, or complete and utter apathy. you don’t want it to be the latter. you don’t speak any more.

judea’s voice comes out on the other end of the line. it’s slow, low, and barely apologetic. “i had a last minute offer.”

“and you didn’t think to tell them you weren’t free today? tonight? because you would be— or you were meant to be having dinner with your girlfriend?” you reply, snappy, your sweaty hand gripping your already-heating-up phone too tight. you’re exasperated, obviously. you saw juju mark this date on her calendar app— she had it labelled ‘date with my baby’ with three exclamation marks. god forbid you believe she’s genuinely eager to see you.

you hear her click her tongue on the other line. “i warned you about shit like this,” she responds, her tone more angry than exasperated—more uncaring than the (barely) apologetic tone you previously heard.

“i scheduled this with you two weeks in advance, ju,” you countered, “don’t give me that excuse. don’t- don’t even give me excuses.” you choke on your words, simultaneously choking on your own pride. you wait. she speaks again, and it’s another excuse.

you go back and forth.

“i just haven’t seen you in a while, and i missed you,” you say,

“i’ve been busy, you know how it is,” she replies,

“but you promised you’d be able to make it.”

“see now, i didn’t promise—“

“you said you’d be able to make it, juju.” you interrupt.

“yeah, and i just got … sidetracked.”

sidetracked?

sidetracked?

“what do you mean?” you ask.

“you know what i mean, ma,” she murmured,

“no. i don’t. you said you could come last week— but now you’re not even here because of a last minute offer. am i being put to the side now?” your response is curt, and by now, things get noticeably more tense.

“god, can you stop doing that?” juju says on the other end.

“doing what? i’m just saying the truth—“ you tried to reason, because— side tracked? did she mean she put you on the sidelines? what did she mean? more importantly, what else could she possibly mean?

“it’s not always about you.” juju says, finally.

she’s right, and you say so.

“you’re right,” you say, voice breaking. “it’s not always about me. that’s why i haven’t been texting that much, or asking to hang out,” you begin, “or asking for too much,” there’s a lump in your throat, and a crack in your heart, but you press on. “because i know you’ve been busy. but juju, you said you’d be—“

“and now i can’t.” her voice cuts, her tone cutting. juju isn’t yelling, but her voice is low and outright cruel when she says your name— she says it as if it disgusts her to say, and when you hear her on the other end, your ears start to ring.

“i’m a fucking celebrity,” she continues, “i can’t be at your beck and call immediately when you say,”

“that’s why i scheduled you two weeks in—“ you tried to interrupt,

“yeah, and this brand's been eyeing me for way longer—come on, i couldn’t flake out on a deal like this. they asked for whenever i was available, and tonight was really the only night because it was just you—“

you end the call.

it’s just you, she says. it’s just you. juju obviously doesn’t want your company, doesn’t she?

it can be just her now.

you eat your plate alone. it’s still warm, but that doesn’t mean it’s good; the call with juju left a bad taste in your mouth. now juju’s plate is in the fridge labelled as leftovers you’ll probably never eat. you remove the extra pillow from your couch and use both blankets for yourself, playing another episode of your favorite show, tuning out the entire night despite hoping with all of your heart that you’ll have missed calls and texts from juju when you next check your phone.

you feel the lump in your throat still. you swallow it.

you wake up in the morning on the same couch, and you shiver at how cold it is. juju usually brought you the warmth.

you check your phone and you can’t swallow the lump anymore.

there are no notifications. your friend, bree, texted you about some party and how all her ‘fyne shyts’ were coming, but you could barely read the rest of the text because of how blurry your eyes were.

there were no calls. there were no texts.

not from her.

there was only silence, and it sent you into a spiral.

bree opens the door with the extra house key you gave her and a single knock to see you slumped across your couch completely and utterly miserable. you look at her, and she looks at you—bree, psychology major, miss know it all, looks at you and instantly knows.

“trouble in paradise?”

you burst into tears. bree’s kitten heels clack on your floor as she sits next to you and places your head in her lap, urging you to vent it out. “it’s good to get stuff like this out, hun,” she murmurs, “i’m saying this as a future therapist.”

you, three minutes into your wailing, will yourself to calm down for a moment— usually, when bree says that, it means she has something else to say, but “as my friend?”

your hunch is correct. bree tilts her head and looks down at your very miserable form curled up into a fetal position. “i say we get wasted tonight.”

“okay.”

that’s how you’re here now.

the bass is booming in your ears, and usually you’d leave solely because it’d make your head hurt—but right now, your heart hurts more. you could care less about the head ache you know you’ll get. you’re free right now. your phone’s charged, your arm is entwined with bree’s, and with every click of your heels you grow livelier. eyes flutter towards you by instinct, and they stay on you—you’re not wearing anything given to you by juju. this is your dress, these are your heels, and this is your jewelry— everyone seems to get the message.

tonight, you speak for yourself.

you’re bound to judea, but she isn’t pulling her leash, so you’ll stray. you’ll stray far, until she either lets go or you choke yourself.

bree looks at you with a soft smile, and tells you to drink safe knowing you’ll get absolutely knackered whether or not you drink. she pinky promises not to separate from you.

the gods may not have blessed you with a good week, but they’ve blessed you with a good friend.

she keeps the promise.

three hours in, and your heels are already off and in your hands, and you’re three drinks in, and you’re dancing, and bree has her arm around you and is singing the lyrics to the hollywood undead song playing. you are on top of the world but the ache has not subsided.

you’re sober enough to know you can’t drink the ache away.

so you choose to dance longer.

until your feet ache even more than your head, and your head aches more than your heart— until your legs are numb and your right hand is tired from holding your heels. but somehow, the ache, as small as it should be, is still the one you feel the most.

you don’t stop dancing.

the police crash through the back door.

you run straight for the front, with bree hot on your heel, and an unfinished cup of coca-cola and… something mixed into it, and your heels. the ice in the glass cup is melted so you throw it into the patch of grass near you. bree ends up more wasted than you are, and she, giggly, says that you watered the plants. you have no idea how she saw water in your cup when it was legit an abyss of dark brown... you know, the coca cola color? but maybe that’s why she’s more drunk than you.

the campus is not far from this party. you don’t mind walking barefoot. bree can crash at your place tonight, you owe her this much.

you are so focused on looking forward, as if there is any hope left for you, and keeping bree steady, that you don’t really pay attention to the fact that there’s a car coming up right behind you, who probably went over the speed limit just to. you also don’t notice when the car lowers it’s passenger seat window.

but you do notice when juju yells your name from the drivers seat.

your head whips around so fast you nearly drop bree, who’s taken to being slung across your shoulder. “what the fuc— juju? juju, it’s—“

“yeah, yeah i do know what time it is, genius. get in the goddamn car.” she snaps, unlocking the door as you open the backseat to gently place bree in. you get into the passengers seat next to juju.

she looks worried sick.

it’s three minutes into the car ride when the lyft that juju apparently called, and paid, for bree whisks her away from the two of you—and it’s four minutes in that you stay in complete silence out of your own shock.

in the empty car, as you drive to what you recognize is not the way to your dormitory but to juju’s apartment— you muster up the courage to break it.

“how are you here?” your voice is soft.

juju doesn’t answer for a good while, but when she does, her voice is impossibly softer.

“i have your location.”

“that's not what i meant. i thought you still had the brand trip.”

“i left early.”

“what?” you say, incredulously. juju doesn’t say anything. she parks, and then she gets out of the car—and before you can even open your door, she’s already helping you out. as you walk? you pry for answers.

“juju, i don’t think you can do that—“

“i’m a celebrity, i can do .. basically? anything.”

“juju.” you scoff. “you’re not serious. it’s just me—“

“it’s not.” juju interrupts this time, so firm it makes you lose your track of mind— her hand, once wrapped around your wrist, lowers itself and softens its grip. it intertwines with your fingers. “it’s not just you.” she repeats, visibly regretting her choices of words last night. “it’s you. you get it?”

“truthfully, no.”

“bro—I,” juju stutters, chokes even, on her own words, fumbling like she’s fumbling with the keys to her apartment right now—“i mean that…” she restarts, “i mean that i’m sorry, okay?”

you stand still in your pretty dress and high heels. you stand frozen until she pulls you in. she closes the door and she takes your face into her hands, and her palms are warm, and she is warm.

warmth. that’s what you were missing.

the ache disappears.

and then you start crying.

“you’re such a fucking asshole sometimes.”

“oh, baby,” juju immediately coos. “i know,” she says, pulling you into her chest, her right hand stroking your head while her left hand pulls you in close by the waist. “i’m sorry.” she whispers. “i’m so sorry, baby. i wasn’t thinking. i’m sorry. i got my common sense back, yeah? i’m here now. i’m here, baby—please don’t cry.” she whispers. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” she repeats, sinking down to the floor with you—“i got you gifts, ma?” she offers. “got you so many gifts.”

“i just wanted you.” you say through a rather pathetic voice crack.

it only makes juju even more apologetic.

“i’m so fucking sorry baby. i’ll make it up to you, okay? i’ll make it up to you. come onn, prettiest girl—“ she whispers, kissing your temple, smoothing down your hair and getting it out of your face. you finally look up, still mad but not able to resist her—and you breath a shaky sigh.

“there she is,” juju says anyway, because the fact you’re looking at her is progress. “my girl.” she continues, “my girl who set up a whole dinner for me, set it all up for me, my girl who worked so hard— my girl who missed me s’much—shhh, baby, i’m here, i’m here,”

you find yourself squeezing tighter. she’s here now. that’s all you've really wanted.

she ends up cleaning you up, putting you in what she knows is your favorite hoodie (hers), carrying you, bridal style, to her couch—wraps you up in a little blanket burrito and places you on her chest where she can kiss your forehead easy. this time, she has netflix opened and ready—and she knows exactly what to have you guys watch: your favorite show that you’ve watched over seventy times, but can’t seem to get tired of.

your eyes are blown wide, focused entirely on snuggling into her hoodie and at the show you’re watching, and you’re too lost in your own post-party, post-argument, post-bad week bliss that you don’t notice juju spends every second looking at you.

you just know that it’s warm.

her hands are wrapped around you, and she’s so warm. and she’s saying sorry. and her voice is soft and it makes you sleepy.

so you close your eyes, and you start to fall harder for her, and simultaneously start to fall asleep.

there is no ache anymore. and you know it is not okay yet, but it will be.

but for now, the awareness that you will not wake up to a cold, empty couch—that's enough.

@likelysobbing.

[ao3commentoftheday]

i found a small fandom, less than 10 pages of works on AO3 (one of my past fandoms was Star Wars, that's why that seems tiny to me), and i want to be involved in this fandom. but, because the fandom is so small, i know that it's way more likely for me to be noticed, and i'm intimidated by that thought. with Star Wars, i was noticed but i was pretty much under the radar, because the fandom is huge. but with this small fandom, i know if i post something, i won't really be under the radar anymore, because there's so little fan content. how can i become less scared of this?

You're not alone in this, anon. I've been noticing it in myself, in recent years, that I'm more self-conscious about my online presence than I used to be. We could dig deep into that whole conversation another time if you're interested, but for now let's focus in on dealing with that state of mind.

What part of being noticed to you find scary?

There are a lot of possibilities, of course. You could worry about being deemed not good enough. Or you could fear that the things you want to write are not the things that people want to read. Maybe you worry that you'll be someone who creates one of those famous "fanon" ideas that everyone latches onto and later hates because everyone latched onto it.

An even deeper worry might be that, even with a small audience, you won't be noticed after all. Or that they'll notice and then reject you.

Posting your fanworks in a place where other people can see them brings its own kind of stage fright, sometimes, and it sounds like you might be experiencing that. The good thing about AO3, though, is that you can post any time that you want to, so you can wait until you're in a good frame of mind before you dive in.

There are a few things you could try out and see if any of them help:

Turn off comments when you post your work. If people can't comment, then you won't feel bad about not receiving any (if that's your worry).

Write your stuff without posting it at all. Get comfortable with your fics first and feel good about them on your own terms. Then, when you post you won't feel as nervous about whether other people like them (if that's your worry).

Reach out to other folks in the fandom, either by commenting on their works on AO3 or by finding them here on tumblr or on other social media. Make some acquaintances and maybe even friends, and that might make you feel more like a welcome community member than a stranger or an interloper (if that's your worry).

It all comes down to trying to pinpoint what the scary thing actually is so that you can find the best way to make it less scary. As someone who has been posting in a fandom with (one sec while I check) 4 pages of results on AO3, I'll just say that people are lovely actually and things are rarely ever as bad in reality as you fear that they might be in your head. ❤️

[fischotterkunst]

👆👆👆 well said! I really think OP’s third point is where capitalism really inhibits a lot of people’s ability to put this into action. it’s the boots theory: “people in poverty have to buy cheap and subpar products that need to be replaced repeatedly” ie poor people can’t afford to buy as much reusable stuff, which is objectively higher quality material, and so by necessity instead go for the cheaper disposable plastic, which wears out and will inevitably need to be replaced. Thrifting - and, of utmost importance, ensuring that gentrification doesn’t make that unachievable - is a fantastic bridge to close that price gap between cheap, disposable stuff and expensive but reusable stuff.

Another thing i think is really important is that, while many individuals following the triple-R principles DOES make a difference, it is critical to remember that the majority of waste is perpetuated by corporations. I don’t know the exact numbers but your average fast food restaurant is throwing away more waste than a small neighborhood combined. At this point, there are plenty of sustainable, biodegradable materials readily and cheaply available that are not being utilized by corporations that by nature produce massive amounts of waste. On top of that, i don’t believe i’ve ever seen a recycling bin in a McDonalds. maybe that’s a coincidence and some of them do offer that option (i admittedly don’t go to McDonald’s very often), but i dont think its a stretch to assume they’re not really trying.

How does one put this into action? For my first point, there’s not a lot the individual can do against late-stage capitalism, but thrifting itself is the main action we can take. Additionally, don’t support influencers who buy large amounts of thrifted material to create fads and cause scarcity/price spikes for those who actually need it (remember the fad of influencers buying plus-sized clothes en masse, cutting them up, and calling it “upcycling” even though they absolutely did not need to buy plus-sized in the first place, and created a scarcity of plus-sized clothes in thrift stores for some areas?). Don’t watch their videos, and don’t follow them/subscribe to them. Remember that many platforms offer the option to monetize views/follower count, so it DOES matter.

In regards to corporate waste, the distribution of wealth again is a major part of this problem. Anyone with a single brain cell to their name knows that Americans in poverty eat more fast food not because we’re “lazy” or don’t care about our health, it’s because it’s cheaper and often more accessible (both in terms of location - food deserts are a topic for a different post - and the simple fact that many people in poverty are working multiple jobs and don’t always have time to cook meals) than higher-quality food. Try to put your money into restaurants that offer reusable or biodegradable eating utensils, and consider bringing your own reusable eating utensils so you can skip the plastic/disposable ones when you go to a fast food joint.

I really think that corporate America makes reducing and reusing difficult deliberately because of OP’s point that recycling is beneficial to capitalism. It’s going to take the effort of many individuals coming together to change that. If you feel like just one drop of water in the ocean, don’t forget that a steady drip can wear away stone over time. Make the effort where you can, and encourage people around you to do the same. We’re in this together!

Remember "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" ? I feel like there's been a distancing from the "reduce" and "reuse" part and a favoritism towards "recycle" by corporate American.

Capitalism can still thrive with recycling in the mix. You buy Plastic Thing 1, throw it away after one use, and they take that and recycle it into Plastic Thing 2 and sell it back to you. All while continuing to harm the environment.

Reusing puts a damper on things. They can't sell you Plastic Thing 2 when you're still using Plastic Thing 1. Plastic forks, for example- there is literally no reason why you can't reuse plastic forks more than once (aside from maybe microplastics, but it's too late for that)

Reducing is the one everyone wants to ignore. Just don't buy Plastic Thing 1. You don't need Plastic Thing 1. Pick up a set of metal forks and use those for years. Convenience is killing the planet

[yukkiji]

surprise, baby

on his birthday, hinata thought you forgot—but what he didn't know was that you were already on a flight, halfway across the world, just to surprise and remind him you'd always be his favorite gift.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. hinata shoyo x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, smut, timeskip!hinata

wc: 8.4k

warning: 18+ mdni., smut. nsfw. praise kink. oral (m and f receiving). multiple orgasms. overstimulation. squirting. food play. hair pulling. dom!hinata. unprotected sex. hinata loves readers boobs. lingerie. multiple sex positions. slight voyeurism.

author's note: happy birthday shoyo! this was supposed to be posted yesterday, but i was so busy organizing some stuff huhu

he thought you forgot.

not in the dramatic, storming-out, shouting match kind of way.

but in that quiet, heavy kind of hurt—the one that sits in your chest all day, just waiting for something that never comes.

hinata had already gotten dozens of birthday greetings.

his teammates tackled him in the sand that morning with cheers and a beach-made cake. old friends lit up the group chat. even the landlady knocked on his door with a homemade papaya dessert and sang to him in soft, clumsy portuguese.

but you?

nothing.

but you hadn’t messaged him.

not a single word. not even a “hey.” not even a lazy emoji you sometimes sent when you were tired but still wanted him to know you remembered.

you had always been the first to greet him on his birthday. no matter the difference in time zones. no matter how late it was. even during those stretches where he was halfway across the world, even when you were sick and bedridden, even when he was mid-flight and unreachable—you still found a way. scheduled messages. early voice memos. paper letters you’d timed to arrive at the perfect moment. you’d never once let it pass unnoticed.

but today, there was nothing.

what hurt more was that this wasn’t just today. this was already the second day without a reply from you. his messages yesterday had gone unopened. his usual “good night, i love you” left hanging in the silence. unread. unseen. not even marked.

he had tried to keep himself together. had told himself that maybe you were swamped with work, or sleeping through a long overdue rest, or maybe something had come up and your phone was out of reach. but it was hard to hold onto those thoughts when the hours passed and still nothing came.

he wasn’t angry. he wasn’t even upset, not really.

he was just starting to feel small in the quiet. like maybe he had done something wrong without realizing it. like maybe something between you had shifted and no one had told him. like maybe you had simply… forgotten.

the thought settled into his chest heavier with each hour.

by the time his teammates pulled him to the beach to celebrate, he could barely fake the usual brightness he was known for. he still smiled, still spiked, still cheered when the ball hit sand—but his heart wasn’t in any of it.

his mind kept wandering back to his phone, to the empty screen that hadn’t lit up all day, to the absence of your name that usually came with a teasing message or a voice note just meant for him. the silence carved a hollow space inside him that only grew heavier with each passing hour. he tried not to show it, tried to laugh with his teammates, play like nothing was wrong, but he was sulking—quietly, bitterly. not the kind of sulking that came with loud complaints or visible tantrums, but the kind that settled deep in the chest, dragging everything else down with it.

when the sun had begun to set, casting long orange streaks across the shoreline, his teammates started packing up—their laughter fading into gentle goodbyes. they patted him on the back, ruffled his hair, and wished him a happy birthday one last time, their voices loud and warm, but none of it quite reaching the part of him that mattered. he smiled for them, because he always did, but it didn’t reach his eyes. the ache in his chest was still there, pulsing quietly beneath the surface, heavier now that the day was nearly over and still… nothing from you.

he slung the towel over his shoulder and walked barefoot through the sand, tracing the familiar path that led to the apartment building just a few minutes away. it stood right along the beachfront, nestled in the perfect corner of the coast, where he could still hear the waves crashing as he stepped off the sand and onto pavement. the air smelled like salt and sunscreen, but none of it felt like home the way it usually did. not without you. not with this silence still hanging between you.

opening his door, hinata could feel something shift in his chest. it wasn’t panic, not exactly—but something soft and startling, like a quiet breath held between beats. something didn’t feel right… but at the same time, it did. his eyes dropped to the floor, and there they were—your shoes, neatly placed beside his. not forgotten, not kicked off in a rush, but arranged carefully like you always did when you came over. like you belonged there.

his heart thudded hard against his ribs.

hope bloomed in his chest so suddenly, so fiercely, it almost hurt.

the scent hit him next. lavender. not the sharp kind from candles or air freshener, but the subtle, worn-in kind that always clung to your skin and clothes. like home. like you.

he stepped inside slowly, as if afraid that moving too fast would break the spell. each step down the hallway was cautious, reverent, like he was walking toward something sacred. and then—there they were. your luggages. two of them. sitting near the entrance, still zipped but clearly used, one with your little red tag hanging off the side.

hinata stood there, stunned, for a second too long. his mouth parted. his fingers twitched like he didn’t know what to do with them. and then, like a switch flipping in his chest, he was moving—quiet, quick steps through the hallway, pulse pounding in his ears, something between disbelief and joy burning behind his eyes.

he heard soft humming coming from the kitchen—faint, familiar, and achingly real. he held his breath as he turned the corner, half afraid he was dreaming. but there you were.

standing with your back to him, barefoot on the tile, wearing his shirt—the one you always stole from his closet, oversized and worn, the hem landing just at the tops of your thighs. there was no sign of shorts beneath it, just the bare stretch of your legs moving gently as you swayed to the quiet tune you were humming.

you looked so natural there, like you had never left. like you had always belonged in this space, in his space, in his shirt, humming like the silence hadn’t broken him all day.

hinata’s mouth went dry. his heart slammed against his ribs.

you turned toward him, still smiling, and in your hands was a small cake—messily decorated, the frosting slightly smudged at the edge, and a single candle planted right in the center. the kind of cake you probably had to sneak around to make or buy without him noticing. the kind that made his chest tighten with something overwhelming and warm.

“happy birthday, sho,” you said, your voice soft but steady.

he didn’t speak at first. his throat had closed up, his heart stuttering somewhere between disbelief and relief. he stepped forward slowly, eyes locked on you like you might disappear if he blinked.

“you…” his voice cracked. “you’re here?”

you nodded, smile deepening. “surprise.”

he stared for a second longer, then let out a shaky breath that sounded half like a laugh. “you’re the best birthday gift i’ve ever had.”

you lifted the cake slightly. “should i bring this over to the table or—”

“no,” he said, voice suddenly low, husky. “the cake can wait.”

your eyes widened slightly, heart jumping as he stepped in closer.

“sho—”

“no,” he repeated, curling a hand behind your neck and kissing you breathless. “you kept me waiting all day. two whole days. i thought you forgot me.”

his kiss was hungry, unrelenting, like he was trying to make up for every unread message, every unanswered call. he barely gave you time to set the cake down on the counter before his hands found your waist and lifted you onto it, mouth never leaving yours.

“you sulking was cute, though,” you teased, breathless between kisses.

“don’t,” he groaned, nipping at your lower lip. “i was fucking miserable.”

“guess i should make it up to you, huh?”

his hands slid up your thighs, pushing the hem of his own shirt higher, revealing bare skin and the edge of red lace. when he saw it—really saw it—his breath caught hard in his throat.

“you’re not wearing shorts,” he murmured, voice roughening. his gaze dipped lower, pupils dilating. “and is that…”

you nodded, biting your lip, heat rising to your cheeks. “your favorite. figured you’d be greedy tonight.”

“greedy?” his voice dropped an octave, lips curling into something dangerous. “baby, you have no idea.”

hinata’s hands ghosted up the sides of your thighs, thumbs hooking under the edge of your shirt—his shirt—and in one slow, reverent motion, he peeled it off you.

his breath hitched again.

the red lace bra was barely anything—completely see-through, your nipples soft and peaked under the delicate floral pattern, the fabric kissing your skin like a whisper. his hands froze, breath stuttering out of him as his eyes dragged over you like he hadn’t seen you in years.

“holy shit,” he murmured, reverently. “you wore this for me?”

you nodded, lips parted, watching his jaw clench and unclench. “it’s been months since you’ve touched me, sho. figured i’d give you something to remember tonight by.”

“months,” he echoed, voice dropping. “yeah. too fucking long.”

his mouth was on your breast in the next second—licking over the sheer lace, tongue wet and hot as he swirled over your nipple before closing his lips around it and sucking. the friction of the fabric sent sparks shooting straight to your core. you gasped, back arching, and he groaned against your skin.

“fuck, i missed your taste,” he mumbled, moving to your other breast. “missed everything. the way you sound, the way you moan, the way you fall apart for me.”

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl.

and then, without warning, he dropped to his knees in front of the counter.

his hands slid down your thighs again, and he kissed the inside of your knee like it was sacred. “stay right there, baby.”

you shivered as he spread your legs wide on the counter, eyes locked with yours the entire time.

“look at you,” he whispered. “you’re already so wet for me.”

your panties—thin, red, and nearly transparent—were soaked through. the triangle of fabric barely covered you, and from his position between your thighs, the evidence of your arousal glistened even through the lace.

he didn’t touch yet.

instead, he leaned in, tongue flat and hot as he licked the wet fabric slowly, from bottom to top, groaning into you like he was starved. the sensation made your thighs twitch, your body instinctively rocking toward his mouth.

“fuck—sho—”

“mmhm,” he hummed, doing it again. “you taste just as good through this. but i want more.”

he pulled the panties aside, fingers sliding the soaked lace down your legs and tossing it somewhere behind him. your cunt was exposed now, dripping, desperate.

“perfect,” he said softly, almost in awe. “absolutely perfect.”

then—he smirked, reached over the counter, and grabbed the little cake.

“sho?” you blinked.

he dipped his finger into the frosting, gathered a dollop, and smeared it gently over your clit.

“you surprised me,” he said, licking the icing off his fingertip. “so i’m returning the favor.”

and then he devoured you.

his mouth latched onto your icing-covered clit, tongue flicking, sucking, licking in slow, messy circles as you cried out and gripped the edge of the counter. the mixture of sweetness and heat made your head spin. his tongue was relentless—pressing into you, tracing every inch, flicking just right as he sucked the icing clean, only to go again like he couldn’t get enough.

your hips rolled into his face. he groaned like it was heaven.

“taste even better than i remember,” he said between licks, voice muffled, tongue greedy. “missed this. missed you.”

“sho—i’m gonna—!”

he flattened his tongue and circled harder, letting your orgasm crash over you right there on the counter. your moans echoed off the kitchen tiles, and your thighs clamped around his head. he stayed buried, licking you through the waves, only pulling back when you slumped forward, gasping.

“one,” he said with a grin, licking his lips. “and we’re just getting started.”

your eyes fluttered, still hazy. “oh my god…”

before you could recover, hinata leaned in and kissed you again—slow and deep, tongue curling against yours, mouth tasting of sugar and sin. his hands moved with purpose, slipping behind your back, fingers unclasping your bra in one practiced motion. he didn’t even wait for it to slide off completely before trailing his kisses downward, lips hot and eager against your neck, your collarbone, the slope between your breasts. he was leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses that turned into love bites, dotting your skin with little red blooms, hungry to worship every inch of you he’d been missing.

but when he reached the valley of your chest, his breath hot and panting against your skin, you suddenly pushed him back with a palm to his shoulder.

“wait—” he blinked at you, slightly breathless, confused and aroused all at once. “what’s wrong?”

you smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief as you reached for the small frosting piping bag you had made earlier. the one you used to decorate his cake just hours ago. you didn't say a word as you squeezed the tip and drew a slow, teasing swirl right over one nipple—then the other. thick, glossy icing coated your skin in spirals and streaks, and you didn’t stop there. you smeared it with your fingers, dragging it across your breasts, sticky and sweet, your breath hitching at the sensation.

it was messy. decadent. obscene. and the sticky chill of frosting mixing with your heat made your nipples pebble instantly.

“holy fuck,” hinata breathed.

you bit your lip, watching his jaw flex as he stared at you—at your breasts, now gleaming with icing, skin flushed and shimmering. you felt sticky, yes, but your horniness drowned out everything else. the way he looked at you—like he was unraveling—made your core clench.

“you’re really trying to kill me,” he muttered, kneeling again with purpose. “you know that?”

“i’m just giving you your birthday cake,” you teased, voice husky. “what, don’t you want a taste?”

hinata didn’t answer. he just dove in.

his tongue dragged a long, slow line up your breast, collecting frosting and saliva in one warm pass. you gasped, fingers flying into his hair, hips instinctively arching toward him. he latched onto one nipple, groaning at the mix of sweet and skin, sucking greedily before switching to the other—licking, nibbling, moaning like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

and maybe it was.

“so good,” he breathed between licks. “you’re so fucking sweet, baby.”

his mouth left your skin with a wet sound, only for him to grab the piping bag from your lax fingers. he gave you a look—mischievous, ravenous—and squeezed another thick swirl of icing directly onto your already overstimulated, perked-up nipple. the cool frosting made you shiver violently, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat.

“let’s see how much more you can take,” he murmured, licking his lips, eyes locked on your chest like a man worshiping something divine.

you could feel it now—the heat between your legs turning molten. your slickness was dripping onto the counter, a soft obscene sound every time your thighs shifted. it was shameless, messy, and utterly overwhelming. but you didn’t care. not when he looked at you like this. not when his tongue was back on your chest, slowly, torturously licking the icing off again—sucking your nipple into his mouth and groaning deep in his throat like he needed it to live.

you whimpered, arching toward him, fingers trembling as they gripped the edge of the counter behind you. your pussy throbbed—clenching around nothing, begging for his fingers, his tongue, his cock—anything.

hinata’s mouth never left your chest.

he squeezed the last bit of frosting from the piping bag, slow and deliberate, letting thick spirals drip onto your breasts. he painted over the curve of one, then the other, covering your skin in messy loops until the whole surface was sticky, shimmering in sugar and saliva. your nipples were red, achingly hard, buried under icing and his insistent tongue.

“fuck, you’re unreal,” he groaned as he licked across your sternum, dragging his mouth from one nipple to the other, switching between soft sucks and sharp flicks of his tongue. “so fucking good. so soft. i could do this all night.”

he was doing it all night.

each slow drag of his mouth made your thighs tremble. your core ached from neglect, slick pooling between your legs, soaking the counter beneath you. you needed relief—needed it—but he was still so focused on your breasts, on cleaning up every bit of the mess he made. the frosting was almost gone now, melting into your skin from his body heat and saliva, leaving behind a sticky sheen that only made everything filthier.

desperate, you let one hand trail down your stomach, slipping between your thighs. your fingers found your clit instantly—wet, swollen, throbbing—and you began to rub tight, fast circles, chasing your second orgasm. your eyes fluttered shut, lips parting in a gasp.

and then suddenly—slap.

a sharp sound filled the air. your hand jerked away on instinct.

hinata had slapped it.

“ah—sho—”

his eyes were dark. mouth still glistening, fingers gripping your wrist as he pulled your hand away from your pussy. his jaw clenched as he stared at you—something between mock scolding and complete lust.

“you really think i’m gonna let you do that yourself?” he growled, grabbing your thighs and yanking you closer to the edge of the counter. “you’re mine tonight. only i get to make you cum.”

before you could answer, two fingers slid inside you—deep, fast, curling just right. you gasped, legs flying open wider as your walls clenched down hard. hinata leaned forward again, still playing with your breasts, licking and sucking, all while his fingers thrust deep into your soaked pussy, curling up into your sweet spot over and over again.

“fuck—you’re already so tight,” he grunted, voice low against your chest. “you were gonna come without me, huh? greedy little thing.”

your hips bucked, moans pouring out of you as his fingers worked you faster, thumb circling your clit in perfect sync. your body was already on edge—still sensitive from the first orgasm, hypersensitive from his mouth, the frosting, the heat, everything.

“sh-sho—i’m gonna—!”

“yeah, you are,” he murmured, dragging his tongue across your nipple again. “give it to me, baby. let me feel you.”

your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your second orgasm ripped through you. your walls spasmed around his fingers, juices gushing out and soaking his hand, your thighs, the counter. hinata groaned at the sight, watching you unravel—your body arching, tits bouncing, mouth slack with pleasure.

he didn't stop right away. his fingers slowed, easing you down from the high, but he was still inside you, still pressing soft kisses across your sticky, marked-up chest like he wasn’t finished yet.

because he wasn’t.

hinata grabbed you by the waist and lifted you off the counter, steadying you when your legs wobbled from the two orgasms he’d already pulled from you. your skin was flushed and still glistening—sticky from sweat and frosting, breasts shining from his tongue and attention. you were bare, completely, the red lace discarded somewhere behind you, leaving nothing between you and his greedy hands.

he turned you around gently, and you let him—your palms bracing the edge of the counter again as he took a moment to admire you. your back arched, hips tilted up, ass fully on display—slick dripping down your thighs. you felt his hand trail up your spine slowly, fingers light and reverent. then came his mouth.

he pressed soft kisses along your back, trailing down your spine like a slow fuse of heat. when he reached your lower back, he groaned quietly, then dropped to his knees again.

his lips pressed to the crease where your thigh met your ass, kissing slowly before his tongue dipped lower—licking a long stripe through your folds.

you shuddered, gripping the counter.

“so fucking wet,” he murmured, voice thick, just inches from your core. “and i haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

his mouth sealed over your clit in the next second, sucking hard.

you cried out, knees buckling slightly. his hands gripped your ass firmly to keep you upright, spreading you open wider. he devoured you like he was starved—groaning against your pussy, tongue moving in slow, thorough circles until your moans turned shaky again.

when you clenched around nothing, desperate for more, he pulled away with one last lick, standing quickly. and before you could even turn around, he spun you to face him and caught your mouth in another deep kiss—messy, wet, tasting entirely of your arousal.

you whimpered into it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders just as his hands found your thighs.

he picked you up with ease—your bare, slick body clinging to his like you belonged there. instinct had you wrapping your legs around his waist, the heat of his cock pressing against your pussy through the fabric of his shorts, your body arching toward him, needing friction.

your hands fumbled at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his chest. he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it off and toss it aside, his eyes never leaving yours.

“bed?” you breathed against his lips.

hinata didn’t say a word. he carried you down the hallway like you were weightless, like he needed you in the bedroom now.

your back hit the mattress seconds later, the sheets cool against your overheated skin. hinata hovered over you, bare-chested and flushed, his eyes dark with something raw and aching. but it was his body—broad and lean with muscle, every inch of him toned and golden from the brazilian sun—that made your breath hitch. his shoulders looked wider, his arms more defined, and his chest, glistening slightly with sweat, flexed as he held himself over you. his abs tensed with every breath. he was bigger. stronger. tan and utterly unfair. the sight of him alone made your pussy clench with need.

“you got hotter,” you whispered, breathless, fingers trailing down the sharp cut of his abs.

he smirked, leaning closer until his lips hovered just above yours. “you’re one to talk,” he murmured, eyes raking down your naked body like he was starving. “you’re dripping. i’ve barely touched you again.”

and just like that, he kissed you—deep and full of promise—like he planned to make good on every filthy thought running through his mind.

your chest rose and fell as you stared up at him, lips swollen from his kisses, body already aching in all the right places. he looked like a dream above you—hair messy, golden skin glowing in the low light, chest still heaving from how tightly he’d held himself back. but you wanted to give him something too. needed to.

“can i suck you off?” you whispered, voice shy but laced with hunger.

his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring just slightly. you watched the way his cock twitched beneath the waistband of his shorts. he didn’t answer at first—just sat back, chest rising with anticipation as he shifted to the edge of the bed and spread his legs slightly, his eyes locked on yours.

“you wanna be my good girl tonight?” he murmured, voice thick, already dazed from how ruined you looked.

you nodded eagerly, slipping off the bed and dropping to your knees on the floor in front of him, your bare body catching the dim light, curves still flushed and slick from everything he'd already done. your eyes met his, lips parted as your fingers reached for his waistband. he raised his hips to help, letting you pull his shorts and briefs down in one slow motion.

his cock sprang free—hard, flushed at the tip, already leaking with precum. you licked your lips at the sight.

“so pretty,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around the base and giving him a slow stroke.

hinata groaned low in his throat, one hand sinking into your hair. “fuck, you look so good on your knees. my pretty girl.”

you leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the bead of precum at the tip. his thighs tensed, and you smiled—then dragged your tongue slowly along the underside of his cock, licking from base to tip like you were savoring it.

“just like that,” he breathed, eyes heavy. “such a good girl for me…”

you wrapped your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks as you slowly began to take him deeper. your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach yet, and you could feel his grip in your hair tighten—gentle but possessive, like he didn’t want to let go.

his head fell back slightly, a moan slipping from his lips as you bobbed your head, tongue swirling, sucking harder when he twitched in your mouth.

“fuck, baby…” he hissed, hips jerking slightly. “your mouth feels like heaven.”

he looked down again, watching you with blown pupils, chest rising and falling harder now. “look at you… on your knees for me, taking it so well. such a fucking good girl.”

you moaned around him in response, loving the way his praise made heat coil in your belly all over again. spit dribbled from the corner of your mouth, but you didn’t stop—not when his muscles tensed, not when his voice dropped into a groan that sounded like it had been building for weeks.

“you keep going like that,” he warned, voice almost breaking, “and i’m gonna cum down that pretty throat.”

your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, moaning softly around him—loving the weight of his cock on your tongue, the way his fingers threaded so gently through your hair, thumb brushing over your cheek like you were fragile in his hands.

but you weren’t. not for him.

and hinata knew it.

without a word, he fisted your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pulled you back just an inch—just enough to look down into your eyes with something dark and hungry swimming in his.

“fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “all pretty and desperate. you can take it, right? be my good girl and take it?”

you nodded as best you could, lips stretching wide again as you opened up for him, tongue flat, throat ready.

then he moved.

his hips thrust forward sharply—fucking his cock deep into your mouth, the head hitting the back of your throat on the second thrust. your hands scrambled to brace against his thighs, nails digging into the hard muscle as tears pricked your eyes instantly.

“shit—shit,” hinata moaned, his voice unraveling. “that’s it, baby, take it— god, just like that—”

his pace quickened, shallow but fast, each thrust pushing deeper down your throat. spit was dripping from your chin now, the obscene wet sounds of your mouth echoing through the room. your eyes blurred with tears, mascara streaking, but you didn’t care. you moaned around him, letting him use your mouth, letting the pleasure of being his favorite ruin wash through you.

he looked down and groaned hard—seeing you with glassy, wet eyes and flushed cheeks, his cock buried in your throat, lips stretched and drool coating your chin.

“fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he panted. “ruined just for me.”

you blinked up at him, eyes overflowing, and that was what did it.

he groaned deep from his chest, hips stuttering. “gonna cum—baby, fuck—”

he pulled out just before the edge, hand still tight in your hair as his cock twitched in front of your lips, thick ropes of cum spilling across your tongue and chin as he moaned your name like a prayer. some of it dripped down your chest, streaking across your already sticky skin and frosting-coated breasts.

you swallowed what you could, licking him clean with slow, teasing swipes of your tongue.

when you finally looked up at him again, breathing heavy, cheeks flushed, makeup utterly destroyed—mascara smudged, eyeliner running, lipstick long gone—he just stared. eyes wide. mesmerized.

“jesus,” he breathed. “you look so fucking hot like this.”

his thumb reached to wipe under your eye, smearing the tears and makeup even more.

“my pretty girl,” he whispered, voice thick with lust and awe as he pulled you up into his lap. his hands were steady on your hips, grounding you, while his cock—still slick from your mouth and already twitching back to life—pressed hot and heavy against your thigh.

you felt the ache in your core pulse with need, the emptiness of the past months catching up to you all at once. his fingers squeezed your waist gently, guiding you as you raised yourself onto your knees. the tip of his cock brushed against your folds, and you both gasped at the contact.

“fuck, i missed you,” you murmured, forehead resting against his. “missed this. missed you.”

hinata’s eyes flickered up to yours, jaw clenched with restraint. “baby, you have no idea how long i’ve dreamed about this.”

you began to sink down slowly, your hands bracing against his shoulders. the stretch was intense after so long—months of nothing but phone sex, teasing words whispered across staticky calls, fingers between your own thighs as you imagined it was him instead. and now he was here, hot and hard and deep, splitting you open in the most perfect way.

your head fell back, a moan tumbling from your lips. “god—shoyo—you feel so good. i almost forgot how big you are…”

his grip tightened. “yeah?” he panted, watching every inch as you slid down him. “forgot how full i make you feel, baby?”

“mhm—fuck, yes—i tried,” you gasped, your thighs trembling as you bottomed out fully, his cock buried deep inside. “but nothing—nothing compares to this. to you.”

you could feel everything. every vein, every pulse. he filled you so completely, so perfectly, it was almost overwhelming.

“used to fuck myself thinking about this,” you confessed breathlessly, hips already beginning to rock, slow and desperate. “had to put my pillow between my legs while i listened to you on the phone—pretending it was you.”

hinata groaned deep, his head falling against your shoulder. “fuck—baby—you’re killing me.”

his hands slid down to your ass, squeezing hard as you began to move, riding him with long, slow grinds. he met your rhythm, thrusting up to meet you as his mouth found your neck again.

“you think i didn’t do the same?” he muttered into your skin. “jerking off with my phone on my chest, moaning your name, fucking my hand while i imagined you saying ‘please, shoyo, cum inside me’.”

you clenched around him at the words, whimpering.

“i need you to,” you cried. “please—i want to feel you fill me again.”

“oh baby,” he rasped, guiding your hips harder now. “i’m gonna give it to you. again and again. until you can’t walk tomorrow.”

and from the way you started bouncing faster on his cock, your body already arching with building pleasure, he knew you wanted exactly that.

and from the way you started bouncing faster on his cock, your body already arching with building pleasure, he knew you wanted exactly that.

hinata’s gaze dropped, utterly mesmerized.

your breasts moved with every bounce—soft, flushed, still faintly sticky from the frosting he’d licked off earlier—and it was hypnotic. they jiggled beautifully each time your hips met his, your body riding him with abandon. his hands gripped your waist, then slid up slowly to cup your chest, thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you whimper even harder.

“look at you,” he breathed, voice trembling. “so fucking perfect—fuck—these tits, baby, they were made for me to touch, weren’t they?”

you nodded, already breathless, crying out when he pinched your nipples between his fingers just enough to sting.

“say it,” he demanded, rutting up into you as your thighs started to shake.

“they’re yours,” you gasped, hands clawing at his shoulders for balance. “they’re all yours, shoyo—everything. my body, my pussy—fuck—yours.”

his mouth found your breast again, tongue swirling around your nipple as he slammed up into you, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing in the room. you nearly sobbed from the pressure building inside, his cock hitting all the right spots, your clit brushing perfectly against his pelvis with every bounce.

he leaned back just a little, eyes wild, watching your slick drip down his cock every time you lifted your hips.

“you gonna cum again for me?” he asked, voice low, desperate. “gonna cum while i’m still deep inside you?”

you nodded frantically, tears pricking your eyes. “yes—yes, baby, i’m so close, don’t stop—”

and he didn’t. his grip on your hips turned bruising, his cock thrusting up with more urgency as he chased your high right alongside his own.

“good girl,” he growled, his lips trailing back up to yours. “cum for me, my pretty girl. be good and let me feel you—”

you shattered with a scream, walls clenching so tightly around him that it made his hips stutter. your orgasm crashed through you like a wave, your entire body trembling in his lap, thighs locking tight around him.

hinata barely held on—his own orgasm hitting seconds after yours. he groaned your name, hips jerking erratically as he emptied inside of you, cock twitching deep within your fluttering walls.

he held you close as you both trembled, sweat slicked skin sticking together, your forehead against his as you caught your breath.

and when he finally pulled back to look at you, his cum already starting to drip down your inner thighs, he only smiled.

“fuck… we’re doing that again,” he whispered. “many times.”

and true to his words, he had you on your back seconds later, your legs folded high against your chest, his hands pinning them there as he settled between your thighs. the position had you completely open to him—spread wide and vulnerable, slick and swollen, still pulsing from your last orgasm.

his cock slid back inside with little resistance, the stretch just as deep and satisfying as the first time. you both moaned in unison, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he bottomed out completely.

“this—” hinata hissed through clenched teeth, “—this is where i belong. right here, inside you.”

he pressed forward, folding you tighter beneath him, his face just inches above yours as his hips began to roll. each thrust was deep, slow at first—measured and purposeful—making sure you felt every inch of him. your breath hitched with every movement, nails raking down his back as he filled you up all over again.

“you feel so fucking good,” he gritted out. “so wet, so tight. like you were made for me, baby.”

“i was,” you moaned, barely coherent. “shoyo, please—don’t stop—i want more.”

“yeah?” he growled, pace quickening. “you want more? my greedy girl.”

he leaned down, lips brushing against yours as his thrusts picked up, cock slamming into you with a force that had the headboard knocking against the wall. your breasts bounced with every movement, body jolting with the pressure and pleasure as he fucked you into the mattress.

his praise was relentless—“that’s it, take it like the good girl you are,” and “so tight, baby, always clenching around me like you don’t want to let me go.” his mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, kissing and biting, marking you as his.

and all you could do was take it. the angle was perfect—his cock hitting so deep you swore you saw stars. your moans became cries, your hands flying to his back, then to his arms, your legs trembling in his hold as another orgasm built like fire in your core.

“gonna cum again, baby?” he panted, his voice hoarse. “cum on this cock for me—make a mess all over me again.”

“shoyo—oh my god—yes, yes, i’m gonna—!”

you shattered beneath him, the pressure too much, your orgasm ripping through you hard enough to make your vision blur. you screamed his name, body locking up under his relentless pace as you gushed around him, slick and heat coating his cock.

he groaned loud and deep when he felt you cum, his hips jerking wildly before he drove in one last time and spilled inside you again. hot and thick and overwhelming, it filled you up, his cock twitching deep as he rode out the waves of his own climax.

but even when you were shaking, overstimulated, whining from the sensitivity—he didn’t pull out.

he just leaned down, kissing your lips tenderly as he whispered, “one more, baby. just one more. you can give me that, right?”

you barely had time to recover before he was moving again, his strong arms flipping you onto your stomach with ease. your cheek pressed into the pillows, legs still trembling when you felt the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance from behind.

“up, baby,” he whispered, voice low and wrecked. “on your hands for me.”

you obeyed, slowly pushing yourself up on shaky arms, arching your back the way you knew he liked—your ass high, your slick glistening in the low light of the bedroom.

“fuck,” he hissed, running his hands over your hips. “look at this. you’re dripping.”

with a low groan, he pushed back into you—deep, hard, one fluid thrust that made you cry out, your arms shaking beneath you.

his pace was ruthless, hips slamming against your ass with a wet, loud rhythm, his groans matching your broken moans. he gripped your waist tightly, angling just right to hit the deepest part of you with every thrust, and it was dizzying.

“sh-shoyo, i can’t—” you gasped, tears forming in your eyes again from the intensity. “feels too good—”

“yes, you can,” he growled. “you’ve been so good for me. my pretty girl can take it.”

and just as you felt him twitch, just when you knew he was close, hinata did something that made your breath completely vanish.

he pulled you up.

his arm wrapped tight around your waist and dragged you against him, your back hitting his sweaty chest as he stayed buried inside you. you moaned out loud, the new angle even deeper—fuller—your neck falling back against his shoulder.

his other hand found your breast, groping the soft flesh, playing with your nipple as he kissed the shell of your ear. his cock was still thrusting, deep and purposeful, while his fingers slid between your legs again, finding your clit and circling it with skill that had your knees buckling.

“shoyo—please—”

“you’re so close,” he panted into your ear, grinding his cock deeper. “i can feel you. clenching around me like you’re trying to milk me dry.”

his fingers worked your clit faster, his other hand tugging at your nipple, and the heat inside your belly snapped—your fourth orgasm tearing through you like lightning. you screamed his name, your entire body shaking in his arms, his cock locked tight inside your pulsing walls.

“fuck, that’s it—that’s it,” he growled, and with one more deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside and came hard.

hot spurts filled you again, his hips jerking, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he held you tightly, both of you trembling from the intensity. you felt everything—his arms around you, his lips on your neck, his cum dripping down your thighs—and you never wanted it to stop.

“my girl,” he breathed, still rocking gently inside you. “my pretty, perfect, greedy girl.”

and when you finally collapsed forward onto the bed, boneless and spent, he followed—blanketing your body with his, still hard inside you, not ready to let go.

not yet.

you should’ve been asleep. after everything—after all those orgasms, after his cum still dripping between your thighs—you should’ve been done.

but the way hinata’s lips kissed the sweat off your shoulder and how his hands gently kneaded your hips as he whispered, “one more, baby. i want to taste you again…”—you couldn’t say no.

and that’s how you found yourself on the chair outside on his balcony, the night air cool against your sticky skin. rio’s glow shimmered in the distance, a faint breeze brushing over your fever-warmed body. your legs were spread wide over the arms of the chair, your pussy already glistening, open and wet from everything he gave you earlier.

hinata knelt before you like a man starved, eyes locked on your core like it was the only thing in the world he craved.

“look at you,” he muttered, voice low with awe. “still leaking from me. fuck, i missed this taste.”

his hands slid beneath your thighs, gripping tight, and when his tongue made first contact—flat and slow from base to clit—you moaned loud enough that someone might have heard.

you didn’t care.

your hands immediately found your breasts, fingers tugging at your own nipples as your head dropped back against the chair. the red lace had long been discarded, and now you were bare under the stars, on full display, as hinata devoured you like a man possessed.

he noticed what you were doing, of course. “god, look at you,” he rasped between licks. “touching your pretty tits while i eat you out. do you have any idea how fucking hot that is?”

you whimpered, twisting your nipples harder, the sensation mixing with the slick flicks of his tongue, the rough scrape of his teeth, and the soft suction around your clit that sent shocks of pleasure down your spine.

he moaned into you when he felt you start to shake again.

“that’s it. cum for me, baby. make a mess all over me.”

and you did.

your body seized, the orgasm crashing into you so violently it left you breathless. your legs trembled uncontrollably, and when he didn’t stop—when he kept licking, sucking, growling—you squirted, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as your hips bucked into his face.

but hinata didn’t pull back.

he groaned as you squirted again, wetter this time, your juices splashing onto his tongue and chin. he pulled back for just a moment, absolutely soaked, grinning as he wiped his face with the back of his hand and said, “fuck, i missed this pussy. she missed me too, huh?”

your body was still twitching in the chair when he stood, his cock rock-hard again.

he didn’t even wait.

he pulled you up, turned the chair slightly to face the view, and bent you over the armrest with your ass presented perfectly for him. he slid back into you with ease, a deep, wet glide that had you both moaning.

“sh-shoyo—i can’t,” you whimpered.

“yes, you can,” he growled, thrusting deep. “i need to feel you cum one more time.”

and he fucked you like he meant it—fast, hard, hips snapping against your ass, his hand sneaking between your legs to play with your clit again. your breasts bounced with every thrust, still sensitive, and your moans echoed off the quiet buildings.

“gonna make you squirt again,” he panted, voice wild, one hand gripping your hip while the other found your breast—kneading it roughly, fingers pinching at your sensitive nipple. “gonna fuck it out of you.”

you cried out, trembling beneath him, every nerve ending already alight. “shoyo—i don’t… i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he growled against your ear, his thrusts picking up again, deep and hungry. “you’re doing so good. taking me so well.”

your body jolted with each stroke, his cock dragging against every slick, swollen inch inside you. your breasts bounced in his hands, too sensitive, too raw, but you didn’t want him to stop. your legs were weak, hips slapping against the edge of the chair, but all you could think about was how full you felt. how deep he was. how he just kept going.

you were already overstimulated—eyes wet, chest flushed, every moan breaking in your throat—but the way he filled you, the way his voice dripped with praise and hunger, you wanted it.

and then—

you shattered.

your release hit like a tidal wave, your body seizing as you squirted again, helplessly, soaking his hips and thighs. you moaned—sobbed—as the wetness gushed out of you, dripping down your legs, splashing onto the chair and hinata’s body.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned, watching it happen with a mix of awe and pure arousal. “look at you. so messy for me.”

you thought he might stop, let you catch your breath—but he didn’t.

he kept thrusting, slower now but just as deep, chasing his own high, both hands now gripping your waist tight.

you were shaking, overstimulated and aching, but you didn’t want him to pull out. you needed it—you needed him.

and with a low, broken moan, he buried himself one final time, his hips pressed flush against your ass as he came. hot, thick release filled you, pulse after pulse, warmth flooding deep inside.

he didn’t move for a moment, just breathed raggedly against your back, arms wrapped around you.

when he finally pulled out, his cock slid free with a wet sound, and your body gave a little involuntary shudder. his cum was already dripping from your swollen folds—thick and slow and so much of it. some of it smeared down your inner thighs, mixing with your slick and everything else he’d wrung from you tonight.

he reached down lazily, dragging two fingers through the mess between your legs and groaned softly. “fuck… i’m gonna be thinking about this for weeks.”

you were boneless in his arms, utterly spent, skin still sticky with sweat and your release. outside, the night had quieted. the air was humid with the sea breeze drifting through the open windows, but the heat that had built between your bodies still clung to your skin.

without a word, hinata scooped you up.

you didn’t resist. couldn’t, really. your muscles had melted into a hazy tremble, and the soft hum of afterglow blurred your senses. your cheek rested against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut as he walked you into the bathroom.

the scent of lavender hit you first.

you blinked, dazed, as you noticed the tub already filling. he must’ve turned it on before the last round. steam rolled off the surface of the water, laced with a familiar calming fragrance. one of the bath oils you always left in the cabinet.

"figured you'd want this after your flight," he said softly, kneeling down with you still in his arms before gently sliding you into the tub.

a small gasp escaped your lips as the warm water wrapped around your tired body like a second skin. you leaned back against the ceramic edge with a sigh, feeling the first ripple of relief loosen your aching limbs.

but then he stepped in, too.

hinata lowered himself behind you, his long legs bracketing yours as he pulled you against his chest. his skin was so warm. his arms—so solid—wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to him. you felt small in his hold, delicate even after everything he’d done to you tonight.

his hands moved slowly—massaging up and down your sides with deliberate care. the pads of his thumbs found your hips, working small circles into them before he kissed your temple.

“you okay?” he murmured into your hair.

you hummed in response, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “mhm. just… warm.”

“that’s good,” he said, brushing a damp lock of hair behind your ear. “you were amazing tonight.”

you flushed even deeper beneath the water. it felt silly to be shy after everything, but the way he was speaking to you—gentle, reverent—it made your chest feel tight.

his hands dipped lower, fingers grazing the tops of your thighs beneath the water. the movement was slow. soothing.

until he dragged one hand inward.

you tensed.

"shoyo…" your voice came out barely above a whisper, thick with exhaustion and lingering arousal.

“shh,” he breathed, voice husky and soft. “not trying to start anything. just want to help you relax.”

but his fingers pressed into your clit anyway—tentative at first, circling lightly, letting the warmth of the water soothe the sting of your overstimulated nerves.

you whimpered, body twitching in the tub. his other hand came up, cupping your breast, and your head fell back harder against him as your breath hitched.

“you’re still so sensitive,” he said with a soft smile, fingers teasing around your nipple. “look at you, baby. still wet for me. even now.”

you squirmed in his lap, thighs clenching around his hand beneath the surface. your legs were still weak, and the water only made it harder to fight the way your body responded to him.

“shoyo… it’s too much,” you whispered, even as your hips began to roll slowly into his fingers.

“you can take it,” he murmured, kissing down the side of your face. “just a little more. just want to see you let go again.”

his fingers moved with practiced rhythm—circling your clit in just the way he knew you liked. your body arched, pressing back into his chest, your hands gripping his thighs as the pleasure rose again, relentless and sweet.

you couldn’t stop the moans that left your lips. not even when you tried.

“there you go,” he whispered against your ear. “just like that. my pretty girl. let go.”

and you did.

you didn’t even know how many times you’d come at this point. your mind was hazy, body weightless, every nerve ending frayed from the pleasure he kept coaxing out of you. the latest orgasm—whatever number it was—hit you like a soft crash of waves, blooming low in your stomach and rippling out in molten, aching pulses.

your breath caught. then broke. and all you could do was slump back into him, limbs boneless, heart pounding against your chest like it was trying to remember how to beat.

“that’s it, baby,” he whispered, holding you tighter. “that’s my girl.”

he didn’t move. just stayed there with you in the water, arms anchored around your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily behind your back. he pressed a kiss to your temple. then one to your jaw. and another—longer, slower—to the crown of your head.

his hands never left your body. they kept tracing lazy circles over your hips, up your ribs, as if to calm every aftershock still wracking through you.

after a while, the water began to cool, and hinata gently shifted behind you. “come on,” he whispered against your damp skin, arms slipping beneath your knees and back, “let’s get you warm and dry.”

you didn’t protest—couldn’t, really—your body limp in his hold as he lifted you effortlessly from the bath. he moved carefully, tender in every step, as though you were something precious. the towel he wrapped you in was plush and warm, and his hands were patient, drying every inch of your skin with a care that made your chest ache.

he dried himself quickly after, hair tousled and damp, torso still glistening under the soft bathroom lights. he caught your gaze in the mirror and smirked, cocking a brow.

“wanna wear one of my shirts?” he asked, voice a little rough, a little teasing.

you leaned into him from behind, pressing your lips to the slope of his back, then murmured, “no. just wanna sleep naked with you.”

his laugh was quiet but smug. “oh? bold of you, babe. you do know i have very little self-control around you, right?”

you rolled your eyes with a sleepy smile. “you’ve already wrecked me tonight. i think i’m safe.”

“we’ll see,” he murmured playfully.

by the time you both made it to bed, the moonlight spilling in through the curtains, you’d already forgotten how exhaustion felt. the sheets were cool, the air soft, and hinata’s skin warm against yours as he slid in behind you, arms wrapping around your waist.

your breasts pressed to his chest, bare and warm, but it wasn’t sexual—not this time. just grounding. comforting.

he rested his chin on top of your head, one hand drawing absentminded shapes along the small of your back. stars, maybe. a volleyball. a heart. he didn’t say anything about it, but you could feel the smile tugging at his lips every time your breath hitched from the ticklish trails.

you let out a low hum. “you didn’t answer me.”

“hmm?” his voice was drowsy now, heavy with contentment.

“did you like your present?” you whispered, fingers grazing his ribs. “me. flying here. surprising you.”

his reply was immediate—murmured into your hair with a reverence that made your stomach flutter. “you’re the best gift i’ve ever gotten.”

your throat tightened.

he kissed your temple and added with a soft chuckle, “though, the red lingerie and frosting on your tits did bump you up to god-tier.”

you laughed, smacking his side lightly, but you could hear the affection laced between the tease. and you knew, without him having to say it again—

he loved you. wholly. hungrily. reverently.

and as you drifted off, tangled in his arms with your bare skin pressed to his beneath the hush of moonlight, you knew this would be a birthday he’d never forget—not because of the cake, or the surprises, or even the lingerie.

but because you were there.

his favorite person, his greatest gift.

finally home.

[stargirlygirl]

Hey, how you doin baby girl?😏

Soooo, since you are the master of writing realistic smut fics, I’m gonna leave this request queen.

Like u know how every vagina is different and stuff. I think people who struggle w having sex don’t get much representation (crying rn). I’m obviously not a virgin anymore but honestly my himen is so strong and my space inside is pretty small that even when I did it several times I still don’t feel much pleasure and it annoys me a lot, like I feel invaded and so annoyed (or it’s the men I slept with, idk). It also doesn’t help that I can’t feel relaxed.

So Caleb, Sylus, both, or which one you want (ik both of them are probably packed down there). With a reader that struggles w being relaxed and her body not helping either. The reader insisted they are not a virgin and they can get to the good part but oopps. So they/ he are/is already inside but it’s clear as day that reader feels more discomfort than pleasure and idk, either stopping and getting to a pretty good aftercare or just continuing w some good old oral and dope aftercare. Your choice.

Or not do this ask. I don’t mind. Just wanting to tell you that you are wonderful and beautiful 😽🫶 may you wake up w Caleb next to you, amen.

star girl's initial words: thank you so much, girlie for requesting!! i hope you like this one. i went with your idea as the context and then built on it (i hope that's okay).

you're not alone in your experience, and i can relate to how frustrating it must be that penetrative sex hasn't been an enjoyable experience for you. because we expect p-in-v to feel amazing, right? it's made out to be THE most sexually pleasurable experience, the ultimate end game, if you will. media (cough porn in any format cough) and a lack of awareness for women around penetration plays a big role in this.

from personal experiences (sorry if this is tmi just skip if it is), it's pretty ridiculous to expect penetrative sex to feel great when you've had no practise. i'm still a virgin (literally 19; i'm still baby) but like... yo ain't nothing of that size is going in there without weeks of coaxing.

AND, often when you (as a woman) don't enjoy penetrative sex, i feel like others make it out to be a problem. like there's something wrong with you, when there's nothing wrong at all. we're all different, and some of our bodies need to be accommodated for differently.

however, how much of this do i actually capture in the fic? it's debatable. but i hope i've captured enough so you feel some comfort when reading this.

you find sex painful

sylus x fem!reader

summary: based on nat's req, you're mid-sex with sylus when he finds out that penetration is painful for you. so, he tries his best to help with your pain.

contains: nsfw, smut, sexual touching (f!receiving), squirting (first time), swearing, fluff, sy buys dilators for you, 3.4k words

note: i've shifted the focus to sylus helping you, rather than how penetration is painful. this post is not meant to be prescriptive.

“Just put it in, Sy,” you whine, bucking your hips up to meet his.

Your boyfriend sighs, “Kitten.” He’s been trying to pump you with a second finger for the past ten minutes, but every time he slips it in, you squirm in pain. And now, you’re insisting that he just shove his huge cock in.

“Please, Sy. It’ll be fine, I promise,” you try to persuade him. Your hips are propped up on a pillow, dripping pussy glinting in the warm candlelight. He’s sitting on his haunches, tip leaking at the sight of you. Spreading your legs a little wider, you notice Sylus’s crimson eyes dropping to your cunt.

Battling himself, he counters, “And what if I hurt you, sweetie?”

“You won’t!” You exclaim in your desperation. “You won’t, baby, so please, just fuck me already,” you plead. His jaw tenses as he considers your eagerness.

At last, he agrees, “Alright. But if it hurts, we stop, darling.” You nod fervently, your heart rate spiking as he shifts over you and grabs a condom from his bedside table.

Sliding it on, your boyfriend positions himself between your legs. With a final few rubs to your clit, he slides his covered tip up and down your folds. You moan, back arching slightly at how good it feels. But once he’s dipping into your hole, all of that pleasure dissipates.

It’s like you’re being split open; he’s so thick. You bite down on your lip, stifling your screams as your fists clench the black sheets.

“It’s too much, isn’t it, kitten?” Sylus stops, barely inside, and stares at you. You shake your head energetically.

“No, no, it’s fine, baby! I’m fine, really,” you insist, but he can see right through you. Pulling the head out, it slaps against your clit, making you whimper.

“Syyyy—”

“No. I refuse to hurt you, sweetie,” he murmurs, yanking off the condom and tossing it into a nearby bin. Leaning over you, he places his large hands on either side of your head.

Your boyfriend kisses your forehead and mumbles against it, “We can do anything else you want, but not this.” You know you should just accept his words and move on, but something drives you to retaliate.

“I’ve done this before, Sy. It’s fine, like,” you shrug. He shakes his head, silver locks tickling your skin. His nose brushes yours, hot breath dousing your lips.

Sylus’s voice is a deep rumble as he asks sternly, “You’re telling me that your previous partners have… gone ahead when you’re clearly in pain?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Sy—”

“It is,” he grumbles. “It’s a very big deal, sweetie.” Drawing back, he lowers himself onto one elbow while his other hand cups your cheek.

Stroking your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, he says firmly, “Your pleasure comes first, is that clear? I won’t hurt you, even if you’re used to the pain.” Your resolve immediately falters.

“Sy…” you whisper, a loving warmth spreading throughout your body.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you tug him into you. His cock is sticky against your inner thigh, and he’s so heavy, but you don’t care. His rare sincerity is what you live for, especially when he’s so sweet during moments like these.

“I love you,” you confess quietly, rubbing your cheek against his. Those muscular arms hold you tightly, reassuring you that not even death can pry him away from you.

“I love you, kitten,” he says low, peppering featherlight kisses on the shell of your ear, and down to your lobe before nipping at it affectionately.

You spend the night being pampered by Sylus. He showers with you: cleaning you up, drying you off, and moisturising your skin before you can do the same for him. You sleep in his meaty arms, your cheek squished against his broad chest, so you can listen to his soothing heartbeat.

The next morning, you wake up to empty bed sheets, which smell like leather and oud.

Sighing, you roll out of bed and freshen up. By the time you make it to the kitchen, there’s a note on the countertop. You pick it up with curious fingers and read your name in Sylus’s handwriting. Flipping it open, the note reads:

Good morning, sweetie.

Breakfast is in the oven. Text me when you’re ready. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.

Yours truly, Sylus.

Giggling to yourself, you set the note down and crouch to the oven’s level. The light is on, a golden pastry glittering beyond the glass.

You pull the door open by the handle, sugary heat rushing out. Slipping on an oven mitt, you pull out the baked goodie and shake it onto a plate.

“Awww,” you pout. He got you a croissant from your favourite bakery and kept it warm. You almost tear up from the tender gesture while making yourself your morning non-negotiable beverage (for me, it’s peppermint tea, but I know y’all might like coffee).

Setting your mug down on the island bench, you haul your croissant over to you and take a bite. The puff pastry is crunchy and deliciously sweet. It melts on your tongue; the butter is rich. Your tastebuds relish in the delicate flavour, a low moan falling from your now sticky lips.

Humming fondly, you finish your croissant and enjoy your drink before texting Sylus that you’re awake. He responds immediately with Come to my office, kitten.

After rinsing your plate and mug, you scamper off to your room and throw on a decent outfit before heading to Sylus’s office. There’s no sight of the twins as you navigate the halls, nor as you stop outside the door. Rapping on it a few times, you hear your boyfriend’s muffled voice permitting you entry.

Pushing the door open, you’re greeted by the sight of your handsome lover. Fitting black button-up, tousled silver locks, and rimless glasses perched on his sharp nose. He beckons you to come closer. Once at his side, you press a kiss to his cheek.

“Morning, babe. Thanks for the croissant,” You chirp. He hums low, pecking your jaw and encircling your waist with his arm.

Pulling you onto his lap, you squeal gleefully, “Sy!” He shifts you so that you’re facing his monitor, your legs dangling over his. It makes him chuckle, seeing how cute his girl is.

Grabbing his mouse with one hand, he starts clicking away on the screen while explaining, “I’ve been thinking about last night, sweetie.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, your heart rate accelerating a little. Typing away on his keyboard, those arms encase your frame. You barely have time to register his search before he hits ‘Enter’.

“Dildos?!” You exclaim.

He smirks, “Don’t act so innocent, sweetie. I know you’ve used one of these before.” Twisting your back, you slap his chest playfully, earning an uproar of laughter from him. His chest vibrates against your back, making it difficult to frown as he clicks on a sex toy website.

“I’d like you to pick a few,” he grins cockily.

“Sy,” you sigh, rolling your eyes.

He drawls, “Let’s start with a small size, and then you can work up to my size. How does that sound, kitten?” His tone is gentler than usual as he heads to the filters tab and adjusts the results. You know he’s trying to help, and you appreciate it… But it’s just so embarrassing. Covering your face with your hands, you groan into them wordless frustrations.

“How about this one?” You hear the click of his mouse, your face heating up with the knowledge that there’s a dildo being enlarged right now for your inspection. Dropping your hands in your lap, they hit your thighs with a faint slap. You stare at a clear dildo.

“Look,” your boyfriend says. He expands the specifications and reads them aloud to you, “Great for beginners. Glass. Five inches—”

“Five inches?! They don’t have anything smaller?” You ask anxiously.

Five inches might not seem like a lot in today’s climate of booktok romance and fanfiction misinformation (myself included to an extent), but for you, who struggles with painful penetration, five inches with a good girth is not feasible for you just yet.

Sylus says gently, “Let’s have a look.” Hitting the back button, you watch red-faced as he scrolls through numerous dildos. Some are realistic, others transparent and streamlined. Six inches, eight inches, nine inches.

“Anal training kit. What about this, sweetie?” He hovers his cursor over the image, zooming in on three dildos ranging in size.

“Can you click it?” You ask, hand reaching for his covering the mouse. Your boyfriend releases it and allows you to control the mouse. You click on the product and read through the specs.

“Four inches. Made from PVC,” you recite.

Sylus remarks, “PVC isn’t body-safe, dear. Why don’t we browse another store?” Regaining control of the mouse, he closes the tab and searches for small dildos this time.

You two spend who knows how long going through several stores’ dildo selections. Finally, you settle on a set of dilators made from certified medical-grade silicone.

Your boyfriend happily pays the exorbitant price with a sincere smile and a promise: “You’re not alone in this, alright? I’ll be right here, kitten. If you have any issues, you know where to find me, yes?” Shifting in his lap, you nod and lean in, kissing him lovingly.

“Thanks, Sy. Thanks for supporting me,” you murmur. He nods slightly before returning to typing in his black card’s information.

Ever the accommodating partner, he lets you sit on his lap as he goes back to arranging shipments and taking business calls. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his Adam’s apple as it bobs, completely relaxed and content to stay like this for hours. He holds you tight when possible, but there’s no need with how securely you’re clinging to him.

“Something wrong, sweetie? You’re clutching me like a baby sloth does to its mother,” he teases.

You giggle into his neck, “Mommy Sylus.”

“Tch.”

“You were asking for it,” you grin, defending yourself. He rubs your back soothingly, his dark office silent. Until his ringtone blares.

Sylus reflects, “I suppose I was,” before answering the line.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

“Your fingers are like—mhmm— this size, right?” You breathe out, clutching his wrist. You’re on your back, your boyfriend on his haunches as he eases a medium-sized dilator in and out of your cunt.

You’ve been using the dilators Sylus bought you most days of the week. It’s become a habit for you two to shower together and then insert a dilator before bed. Usually, you spend around 15 minutes adjusting to the size. But since you’ve been progressing quickly, your boyfriend wanted to try something different tonight (with your permission, of course).

He smirks down at you, “Curious, kitten?” You nod, your lip drawn between your teeth harshly.

Slowly, he pulls the dripping dilator out and sets it on a nearby towel. Climbing over you, he catches your lips in a tender kiss. The way he presses against you, the emotion in the rhythm, he’s asking for consent.

Drawing back, Sylus hovers close as you give your answer, “I want to try it, Sy. I think-I think it’ll feel good this time.” He hums, the sound reverberating deep in his throat.

Stealing a peck, he shifts and grabs the water-based lube that goes with the silicone dilators. Squeezing a decent amount on his rough palm, your partner smears the cool gel all over your pussy. His fingers slip up your folds, causing you to buck your hips. You moan quietly, heat rising to your cheeks like it did the first time he helped you insert a dilator. He chuckles low, squeezing more lube onto his fingers and rubbing it in like lotion.

“Alright, darling. Shall we start slow?” He teases, his silver brow arched. You hum in agreement, shimmying your hips closer to his lubed-up hand. Those slender fingers make contact with your aching cunt again. His fingertips roll over your clit; your breathing shallows.

“Sy,” you pant, encircling his wrist with your fingers once more. You slide his hand down to where you need it most.

With his signature grin, your boyfriend prods at your entrance. His other hand brushes your hair back, your eyes finding his in the disarray of anticipation. He slips his middle finger in slowly, whispering sweet encouragement as he does so.

“My, my, look at how well you’re taking me, kitten. Does this feel good?” You don’t respond as he pushes in knuckle deep. Already, you feel so full of him, but his lack of movement is torturous.

Gazing up with lustful eyes, you whine, “Sy, please.”

Leaning down, his nose ghosts yours as he repeats himself, “Tell me, darling. Does this feel good?” Arguing for the affirmative, Sylus curls his finger up, the tip pressing against your ridged walls in the most delectable way possible.

“Sy!” You squeak. “Feels really good. Please—” You rock your hips on his finger, desperate for more.

He chastely kisses your nose before steadying himself on his elbow to keep close to you. Sliding his fingertip down, your lover repeats the come-hither motion, shrewd eyes trained on your face. He observes every single detail, from your frequent lip biting to your eyes clamping shut from ecstasy.

The pressure in your tummy builds. But it’s not just in your tummy, it’s a little lower, too.

Drawing his now-drenched finger out of you, you mewl at the loss, “Sy, baby. Why-why’d you—”

“Quiet, sweetie, or you’ll miss the best part,” he murmurs. You open your mouth, about to ask him what he’s referring to, when you feel it. Two fingertips poking at your fluttering hole.

“Relax, dear,” Sylus instructs. A small whimper escapes your teeth-marked lips as he manages the tops of his two fingers inside. He remains there for a moment, letting you clench and unclench until you’re ready for more.

Pushing them in at a leisurely pace, he reminds you, “Now’s not the time to act all tough. If it hurts, kitten, you need to let me know.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, eyes on the lewd sight of his fingers sinking deep into your pussy.

A couple of months ago, you were in this position. Sylus’s fingers buried in your cunt, stretching you out. Then, he had been preparing you for his dragon dick what’s to come. But now, he was focusing on your reactions to ensure your pleasure.

Pulling his fingers out halfway, he eases them back in.

“This alright?” He asks lovingly. You nod, a quiet whine tumbling out of your lips.

Your boyfriend sighs, “Say it, darling,” while kissing the corner of your mouth. His fingers curl, making you gasp and moan. You gaze at him like you’re etching every angular feature into your memory (you already have).

“Feel really full, babe,” you manage out, pleasure wracking through your system as his fingertips hit your g-spot again.

Sylus clarifies, “How so? A good kind of full? Or is it overwhelming?” Your lips press together, muffling a sweet moan as he continues fingering you oh-so-deliciously.

“Good. ‘S good, Sy,” you whimper.

Turning your head, you nuzzle his neck with your nose. Sylus has never cared for when you hide from him, especially at a time like this. When he needs to see you, to pick up on all of the little things you tell him with your eyes and incessant lip bites.

Kissing your hair, he mumbles into your scalp, “Won’t you look at me, kitten?” Whatever you hum into his skin is lost as a guttural moan tears through you.

One good thing about you being so close to his ear is that your boyfriend gets to hear your pornographic sounds like they were amplified by state-of-the-art speakers.

He groans, cheeks rubbing the side of your head affectionately while slipping his free arm beneath and around you.

Rolling you onto your side, Sylus whispers, “Throw your leg over my hips.” You obey, doing exactly that as he pulls you flush against his chest. His scent alone makes you moan, and his body is so warm it makes your insides all gooey. Or maybe that’s from his fingers. Probably both.

The squelching of your sopping cunt fills the dark bedroom. Through the window, the stars gaze upon your intimacy. Perhaps they cheer for you, rejoicing in the pleasure you’ve been able to find in something so daunting months prior.

“Sy— fuck! I—” Your moan cuts you off, arms tightening around his neck.

You hold onto Sylus like you’re stuck in the middle of the ocean, fighting for your life, so you don’t drown in the depths. But your ocean isn’t filled with water. Abundant are the sensations rippling throughout your body. Every movement of his fingers sends more and more arousal gushing from you.

Pressure accumulates in the pit of your stomach once more. It feels like he’s pushing down on your lower tummy, but you know he’s not. Drawing closer, you feel like you’re gonna wet yourself.

“Sy, wait! Wait, fuck, feel like I’m gonna pee,” you exclaim. But your boyfriend doesn’t heed your warning. If anything, it spurs him on.

“Do you now, sweetie?” He murmurs all seductively, his breath fanning your ear. You try to respond, but all that pours forth are broken whimpers and breathy moans.

He chuckles, “Don’t be afraid, darling.” You cry out into his chest, one of your hands flying to his working forearm, and he presses into your walls harder.

“Sy! I’m serious, Sy! I swear ‘m gonna—”

“You won’t. Now, let go,” he commands, his voice all gravelly.

It only takes a few more pumps until you’re diving headfirst into oblivion. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. You can feel the mess you’re making, but you can’t seem to care as moans rip through you and your body convulses like you’ve been possessed.

“Fuck,” Sylus groans, watching as you squirt all over his hand and arm. It sprays onto his clothed thigh and drips onto the inky sheets. He’s never been more proud.

Your boyfriend praises you, “Look at how good you’ve done for me, kitten.” He kisses your sweaty hairline, your thighs clamped tightly around his still hand. Slowly, he slides his fingers out and draws them up through your folds. You whimper as he rubs a few lazy circles on your cilt, making your body jolt.

“Sy, please,” you rasp out. You’re exhausted, your limbs as mushy and pliant as he chuckles. Sylus gently maneuvers you onto your back and kisses your lips reassuringly.

He says low, “Stay here, sweetie, while I grab another towel.” You nod feebly, too weak to protest. Like you’d want to, anyway. The last thing you want to do is move right now, let alone follow your long-legged boyfriend off to the linen cupboard. And good thing you don’t, or you would have seen the wet patch at the front of his sweatpants.

Listening to the rustling of the bedsheets and thudding of his footsteps, your breathing grows steadier. Your eyelids feel heavy, as does your body. Next thing you know, Sylus’s callused hands are caressing your thighs, pulling them apart before he wipes you up with a damp towel. The soft, cool cotton is refreshing.

You sigh as you feel your partner’s warmth shift, his body hovering over yours. Plush lips place longing kisses on your brows, then your eyelids, cheeks, and finally, your lips.

He mumbles against them, “Was that your first time squirting, my love?”

“Mhmm, maybe,” you grin tiredly.

“Maybe?” He repeats before pecking your lips.

You giggle, “Yes.” Slowly, Sylus bundles you up in his arms and pulls you on top of him after lying down. His now-dry fingers stroke your hair, and his short nails occasionally scratch your scalp.

In his embrace, you release all your fears and doubts about this entire process. Never did you think this could happen. That you could 1) enjoy penetration and 2) squirt from it. But Sylus has shown you that through his love that anything is possible. Even though you’re not where you want to be, the improvements along the way have been nothing short of magical.

embarrassing/gone wrong sex moments m.list

star's final words: oh the vaginas ahem hymens i looked at in prep for this. not that i didn’t know what they were beforehand, but i def know a lot more now.

helpful links for your education:

cleveland clinic ⟶ what is the hymen? healthline ⟶ does it hurt when your hymen breaks? bien australia (these are the dilators i was talking about; i haven't used this product and i'm not promoting this product; i cannot attest to how effective they are) ⟶ vaginal dilators

[gunstellations]

MAG39

[junnieverse]

STRAWBERRY KISSES ➳ N. RIKI

➙ synopsis: you decided to hop on the latest trend where your boyfriend, riki, does your grwm voiceover, but he on the other hand has other plans in mind for you both.

pairing: non idol!nishimura riki x fem!reader

genre: fluff, crack, slightly suggestive

word count: 0.9k

warnings: briefly proofread, riki jokingly calling reader a thief/kleptomaniac

a/n: i would like to say i was inspired to write this with my own little spin after reading a jake fic similar to this awhile back that i found so cute, tysm to that author <3

“Yo yo yo, what’s up guys.” his deep voice croaks into the mic as he turns his gaze to you.

“Is this on?” Riki asks tilting his head to the side, whilst the video of your makeup routine was paused on the screen of the laptop.

You nod before giving him a thumbs up to get started.

You had been wanting to post more content on your social media lately and you thought joining along the whole “boyfriend voiceover” trend would be perfect for you and a fun activity for both you and your silly partner.

“Okay so my lovely girlfriend asked me to do the voiceover for her makeup ‘get ready with me’ video because for one, she’s obsessed with me- ow!” he groans rubbing his arm as he chuckles after cheekily after you swatted him seeing as he successfully teased you.

“I swear she loves me. And uh secondly, I have two sisters so I think I should do well knowing a thing or two about these kinds of stuff.” he continues with a confident smirk.

Clicking play on the video in front of you, you silently watch beside your boyfriend as he closely follows along, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“I will never understand how and why she needs all of this stuff to begin with. I for one think my girlfriend is insanely beautiful the way she looks now, bare face and all. Like a cute kitten.” he rambles seemingly wanting to go on and on about how perfect you are—before you abruptly remind him of what he needs to be doing.

“Okay let me lock in, sorry. So first up we got moisturiser. Yep, gotta keep the skin hydrated ofcourse.” he says nodding along as you show your entire process, step-by-step.

“Next we’ve got… uh, some gel like clear substance..? Why are we adding goo to our faces now?” he mutters the last part with a deep chuckle into the mic as you side eye him.

“It’s primer Riki.” you whisper but still loud enough for the mic to catch.

“Tch, I knew that.” he sneakily remarks sticking his tongue out at you, only for you to roll your eyes in response.

For the most part your boyfriend knew what he was talking about which shocked you, but his overall confidence in his knowledge also annoyed you.

Although you could say the things he didn’t know did have you quietly laughing away from the mic a couple of times.

“Then that is some sort of make up stick? And we’re blending it in. Woah it made your jaw look sharper too. You’d swear you were mewing.” he says in awe of your contouring skills making you laugh softly, once again.

Watching you draw your eyeliner with the pencil with ease, Riki claps softly amazed by what he called “sheer talent”.

“This has to be the one of the very few products I’m most confident in and that’s the eyeliner. Any girl that can pull off making winged liner look so effortlessly straight has my respect. Shout out.”

“And then we’ve got… THATS BLUSH! I knew what that was!” he says excitedly with a proud smile having underestimated his prior knowledge for a second.

“Okay and now lipgloss. My personal favourite because I get to tas-“

“Riki!” you cut him off knowing exactly where he was going as you hit his arm once again.

“Okay okay my bad. God forbid a man talk about how he loves kissing his girl.” he huffs into the mic as the video continued rolling.

Shaking your head, you gently pinch his cheek making him pout as you smile, “focus on the video, oh my gosh.”

“And lastly we have… is that like some sort of mist? What is that? Wait don’t tell me I’ve seen you use it before- it’s… setting spray!” he answers almost last minute with a huff of relief for getting it right.

You then show off your final look to the camera posing with a gleaming smile to which your boyfriend smiles back.

“Damn look at that fine woman on screen, that’s my girl.” he says hyping you up as he whistles.

“Wait is that my necklace- chat I’ve been looking for that everyone and she’s been hoarding it, you slick thief.” he gasps in shock noticing the silver chain around your neck, which you had previously claimed to not have seen.

Giggling softly you only shrug avoiding his gaze as he only shakes his head not really upset at you, “oopsie~”

Paying his attention back to the video on screen, with his hand on his chest, Riki dramatically feigns being struck, “oh my gawd my girlfriend is the most beautiful woman out there… kleptomaniac and all.”

“I still don’t know why she needed the makeup in the first place since she looked beautiful even before but I’m not mad, either way you’re always pretty.” he says adding his last commentary saying the last part directly to you.

You quietly thank him mouthing out the words with a shy smile feeling flattered.

“Okay so that was my princess’ ‘get ready with me’ slash makeup routine, whatever you guys wanna call it. Hope you guys enjoyed listening to my sexy voice that she is so blessed to hear everyday. I’m gonna go see what flavour lip gloss my girl used this time, fingers crossed it’s my favourite.”

Giggling at his words, you watch Riki turn the mic and laptop off as he scoops you into his arms before gently placing you down on the bed.

Caging you between as arms as he hovers above you, he leans down to kiss you as you melt into his intoxicating touch enjoying the moment all too much before he pulls away leaving you confused.

“Strawberry? Nice.” he remarks at the taste of your lips before your wrap your arms around his neck pulling him back in for more.

[miiilowo]

another big fnaf youtuber recommendation list

@outtatime asked me for fnaf youtuber reccs because theyre just now gettin into the series, and it's easier to format stuff in a post vs. a comment. so im making a post ^_^ AND so anyone else can access it if they want. i've done this before but i know more people now

GENERAL FANDOM CREATORS (most of these people also make vids about other stuff but have a FNAF focus):

Dawko is probably the #1 fnaf youtuber, he makes general fandom stuff and is always on top when it comes to releasing letsplays, usually the first to make videos about fnaf news, has multiple interviews with people who are involved with the franchise and a few with scott cawthon himself

Andiematronic - another all-around fnaf youtuber! she makes cosplays, has made a functioning fnaf arcade cabinet, plays the games, has review videos, videos about the merchandise and fandom, so on so forth

The Unwithered Truth - REALLY good theories and timeline videos, as well as some REALLY good reboot ideas for the franchise. Genuinely fantastic cannot recommend them enough

NotARealNameNotAtAll - Lots of fandom-centric videos, general analysis and discussion, theories, opinion videos and so on

Ryetoast - Similar to the last one! A lot of theories and discussions about FNAF, also has a podcast where he just rambles about fnaf stuff and answers questions from viewers

M.R. Springs - More focused on videos about the FNAF fandom itself! Talks about stuff the fandom has made (for better or worse), lots of videos about merch & toy lines as well. Largely commentary videos

The ooftroop - Has some fun goofy FNAF "timeline" videos, some art videos, general fandom stuff

DaRegularSauce - Undeniably the fandom's best animatronic cosplayer I think. He literally got hired by steel wool over it

j-gems - Lots of fun SFM animations if thats your thing

Bizabizow has less of a fnaf focus than everyone else so far, but I really like her redesigning fnaf plushies series. shes got some funny gameplay videos too

gomotion, who implied i was going to hell for capitalizing her name last time i made a list, has a lot of good fnaf stuff! she makes other videos too and it isn't her main focus

the chiptide - general videogame stuff, but a lot of fnaf as well! he breaks down the math, science, engineering, etc. behind things and puts them through a more realistic lense. reminds me of how youtube was in like 2014, generally very delightful as well as being educational, thinks william afton is a big stupid dumbass whos bad at his job (and hes right)

COMMENTARY YOUTUBERS (who also have a good amount of fnaf stuff but i wouldnt 100% call FNAF youtubers)

Daggz, Quinnamon, UhYeah, Pastra - These four all make videos about a lot more than just FNAF, but I do recommend em nonetheless ! Daggz does a lot of general mascot horror, Quinnamon has a good amount of fandom discussion videos as well as fnaf stuff, UhYeah does commentary vids about mascot horror but has more of a focus on FNAF itself, and Pastra talks about horror from every direction

Chazington - highly edited, very funny. i recommend him outside of fnaf stuff, he has the least focus on it out of everyone so far i thinkkk

Sagan Hawkes is one of my absolute favorite youtubers of all time and even though hes only made a few fnaf videos im taking this opportunity to shill him. i loooove his stuff. he doesnt really do commentary, he does video essays, but idk where else to put him category wise. really well edited, makes his own music, generally talks about horror

LETSPLAYERS, SPEEDRUNNERS, CHALLENGE VIDEO MAKERS, ETC - These people all have more of a focus on the games themselves compared to timelines or fandom content. everyone here plays other games but have a lot of fnaf stuff

Astralspiff - very chill for the most part, his vids are edited-down streams. Makes challenge videos, exploit/bug related vids, speedruns (!), etc. usually the guy i go to first for FNAF gameplay aside from markiplier. big fan

Backseat streams as well as his main channel - Similar to spiff in that he's very very very very good at breaking games. notably security breach. His videos are EXTREMELY well edited, good at keeping your attention, and are always a treat to watch. Can't really think of another youtuber whos similar to him style-wise, def give em a shot

Chickeninja42 - Lots of obscene challenge runs like trying to beat fnaf 4 with no audio and fnaf 3 with no cameras

TheBones5 does similar obscene challenge runs that usually involve editing the games code to make them more difficult, very technical

8bitryan has a lot of horror letsplay videos but is definitely a huge fnaf fan

BONUS: i converted my spotify FNAF playlist into a youtube one. for all your fnaf fansong needs

i guess i also technically count as a fnaf youtuber

[thepartyresponsible]

prompt fill! someone requested dick grayson and the prompt "i don't trust anyone else." my brain is all vampires apparently, so i wrote a sequel to this short vampire au with dick grayson, bucky barnes, and tony stark.

warnings for general vampirism and some enthusiastic blood drinking. this one might end up cross-posted to ao3, since it's longer than what i usually post here.

---

Dick Grayson leaves the Tower at four in the morning, lively and warm, a healthy flush glowing along his cheekbones, and Bucky figures they’ve done good work, but they’ll never see him again.

“Dick Grayson, huh?” Tony mumbles, drooping a little against Bucky’s side. He gave more than he should have, but he always does. “Wow. Let’s go to Gotham more.”

“Rein it in, Stark,” Bucky advises.

Beside him, Tony scoffs. “I’m not the one still staring at his ass.” He pauses, hums thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not the only one.”

And Bucky doesn’t plan to stop either, but that’s not the point. “I didn’t have his teeth in my throat for fifteen minutes,” he volleys back. “And then the cuddling.”

“He was cold,” Tony says, unapologetically, “and then I was cold. And he smells really good, Bucky. What the hell is that? Can we bottle it?”

If you could get Dick Grayson in a bottle, no one would ever leave their homes again. The population would collapse. End times.

Might be worth it, though. It’s not like the current times are going so well that he’d miss them.

“Okay,” Bucky says, because Dick’s gone, turned a corner, left their lives. “Let’s get you some iron supplements and a cold shower.”

---

But Bucky’s wrong. Dick does come back. Four months later, looking even more ragged than the first time. He waits politely in the lobby of the Tower, tucks himself toward the doors, keeps his hands visible at his sides, smiles at the guards like they’re doing him a favor. When Bucky steps out of the elevator, Dick looks his direction but doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Hey,” Bucky says, slowing to a standstill a solid six feet out. “You’re in bad shape, huh?”

“Thanks,” he says. He does that smile again, the sad one that almost hides his teeth. He’s handsome enough that any smile makes an impact, but, having faced the absolute devastation of Dick Grayson smiling like he means it, this one rings hollow. “I just—look, sorry, I just wanted to ask a favor.”

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Whatever you need.”

Dick’s eyebrows pull together. “You don’t even know what it is.”

Out of sheer grace and goodwill, Bucky does not roll his eyes. “Yeah, I know your type. You’re not gonna ask for anything we wouldn’t want to give. You probably wouldn’t ask for a glass of water if you were on fire.”

Dick laughs, a little unevenly. “Blood,” he says, like he thinks he’s proving Bucky wrong. “I’m here to ask for blood.”

“Great,” Bucky says. “Whose, mine? Tony’s? The bagged blood upstairs?”

Dick blinks and then wavers, seems thrown for a loop.

“What, you bored of the regular stuff?” Bucky shrugs. “Steve’s is kinda zippy. Wouldn’t recommend it. Kinda burns. And Banner’s always a gamble, because sometimes the other guy shows up midway through. Barton’s actually really good, but Nat gets jealous, so you’ve gotta pretend you hate it the whole time or she’ll---”

“Tony’s,” Dick says, probably just to get him to stop talking. “And I want you there.”

These people, Bucky thinks, despairingly. These nice, good people. They always think they’re going to horrify him with what they need.

But the horror isn’t that Dick needs to feed. It’s that someone, somewhere, taught him he deserved to starve.

“Sure,” he says. “Come on up.”

---

Tony’s caught in a tricky bit of welding or something equally ridiculous, so Bucky escorts Dick Grayson up to Tony’s suite and is thrilled to find him utterly unimpressed. “Well,” he says, and then gestures in a way that almost hides the miserable twist of his mouth, “Bruce Wayne, you know? I used to live like this.”

Bucky wonders how Bruce Wayne is doing, and how his adopted son ended up haunting the streets of New York, desiccating by the day. Sometimes, people need their mistakes explained to them. One expeditious method Bucky’s discovered is defenestration. Maybe it’s all the time he spent in Russia, but he's found that nothing says You fucked up like getting thrown through a window.

“You want to live like this again?” Tony asks, breezily, as he saunters out of the elevator, already working on the buttons of his shirt. “Please, do me the favor.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says, just so he can get out ahead of this, so he can point back to this exact moment later and say: I tried to get you to have a single ounce of decorum, you wayward libertine.

“I’m cultivating the world’s most evocative private collection of raven-haired vampires with impeccable abs,” Tony says. “Nat won’t dye her hair yet, but we’ve agreed to the occasional wig at public events.”

“Wow,” Dick says. “Evocative?” Which is far more encouragement than Tony’s ever needed.

“You wouldn’t describe yourself as evocative?” Tony shrugs out of his shirt, leaving himself in an undershirt at least one size too tight for decency. “Would you prefer 'exquisite?”

“Maybe ‘exsanguinated,’” Bucky interrupts, before this gets truly out of hand. “Tony, give him a break. He can’t think right now.”

Bucky can barely think right now. These days, he’s the best fed he’s ever been, but Tony, standing there with his throat and arms bare, practically begging to bleed, is making his jaw flex involuntarily, desperate to bite.

“Just how I like ‘em,” Tony says. He tips his chin to the side, raises his hands, makes a little come and get it gesture with his fingers. “C’mon, Grayson, this is my favorite part.”

“Fuck,” Dick says, so soft it’s barely a word, eyes pinned, pupils blown, damn near vibrating in place. “Fuck,” he says, again, like a prayer.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky says. “I’ve got him. It’s okay.”

Dick shudders across the room so fast that he’s a blur even in Bucky’s eyes, but he’s still impossibly careful when he bites, neat and sweet, an arm around Tony’s waist, hand caught up in that too-tight tank like it’s already so good he needs the anchor just to stay afloat.

---

Afterwards, after Dick swoops Tony up and carries him across the room, after he spills Tony across couch but doesn’t spill a single drop of blood, after he crawls half on top of him, murmuring things Bucky should probably have the grace to pretend not to hear, after he drinks right up to the edge of reasonable, Dick pushes himself away and grabs for Bucky instead.

“Barnes,” he says, stretched out, breathless, eyes twin black pits of need and want, “it’s—I can’t stop.”

“You did stop,” Bucky tells him.

Dick runs his tongue along his lip, leaves a smear of blood behind, and there’s no time at all between Bucky, staring at that red, and Dick tipping his chin up in offer, and Bucky leaning in to lick it away.

“Shit,” someone says, and that must be Tony, because Bucky’s lips are on Dick’s, tongue in his mouth, chasing the taste.

He’s heard a few rumors about Grayson, all those exes he has. Seems like half the masks on the East Coast have spent time with him, but that must’ve been before, because no one’s taught him how to kiss with his new teeth yet.

He’s eager, and desperate, and he catches Bucky’s tongue with one of his fangs with just enough pressure to break the skin. And then it’s Bucky’s blood in his mouth, and Dick Grayson moans like he wasn’t drinking a better, purer vintage sixty seconds ago.

Bucky moves to pull back, and Dick moves to follow, and Bucky’s flattered enough that he lets him get another mouthful before he puts his hands on Dick’s shoulders and pushes him away.

Dick’s strong, but Bucky’s stronger, and Dick seems delighted by that fact, grins wide, shows Bucky his own blood on his teeth.

“You’ve been holding out,” Dick says. And then, a second later, with the kind of sidelong hopeful look that must get him damn near anything he wants. “You did offer, right? Earlier?”

“That was a joke,” Bucky says. He heals fast these days, but there’s still enough blood in his mouth that he has to wipe some away with the back of his hand. “I didn’t think you’d like it.”

“I like it,” Dick says, transfixed by the blood on Bucky’s hand. “You taste good.”

On the other side of the couch, Tony makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Oh, no, don’t mind me,” he says, waving them off. “Keep making out in front of me and talking about how much you like tasting each other. That’s a very kind thing to do to me when I don’t have enough blood left to participate. That’s great. Appreciate it.”

Bucky, just to be an asshole, plants his knee between Dick’s sprawled legs and leans over him, pinning his shoulders to the couch, mouth hovering a spare couple of inches over Dick’s. “You know, Stark,” he says, “you can leave at any time.”

“Fuck you,” Stark says, watching as Dick playacts at biting, snaps his teeth up at Bucky. “My objections are entirely timeline-based. The content is great.”

Dick laughs and looks between them, can’t seem to decide which view he likes better. That blush is coming back, Bucky notices. He’s warm underneath him, relaxed, looks drunk on Tony’s blood.

“Feeling better?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Dick says, a little breathless, squirming in his own skin like he forgot what he could feel like. Or never knew, maybe. “You feel like this all the time?”

“Well, the high’s not quite as high,” Bucky says, “because I don’t let the lows get so low. You drink any fresh blood since we saw you last?”

Dick hesitates, and some of that easy glow dims out of him. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

It’s a terrible, shitty thing. Dick Grayson, who led the Titans, saved the world, scared to the point of starving himself, scared of what he never asked to be made into.

Bucky used to be scared too. But if you don’t learn to live with your monsters, you can never learn to control them.

“You stopped without me,” Bucky reminds him.

Dick shrugs, shrinks inward, drops his eyes away. “But I didn’t want to.” There’s shame on his face, and fear, and guilt, and all the endless demons that took their bites out of Bucky too. “I wanted more. I wanted--- Barnes,” he says, voice dropped to a whisper, “I wanted all of it.”

Bucky hooks his thumb under Dick’s chin and lifts his head until he’s staring directly into his eyes. Nobody tells them, all these good people. Nobody told Bucky, either, and he tore himself to pieces until he finally figured it out.

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” he says. “It only matters what you do.”

[charl0ttan]

is there a charlotte Who To Follow list for other people that post good ? just some choice picks, cuz my hours at work got cut so i'm scrolling more and i'm tired of refreshing my following dash and there's no new posts

oooh great question 😁

@psygull my good friend roz who has great taste in media and Aesthetics and such :) great blog lots of tagging lots of eerieposting

@duckdotcom my good friend jon ^-^ very nice & can Poast

@gunksplunk followmaddy. do its now. bnuuy and other animals art👍

@crawfishcomic comik👍

@thatsbelievable (scrolling through my following rn) okay THIS is the first one that im actually really happy to be able to talk about like this. very comfortingly (to me) silly blog that posts snips perhaps from early 20th century newspapers in the Fucked Up And Weard Dimension. delightfully absurdist. really fun to have this blog around👍a treat

for that matter, @yesterdaysprint is also good if you want the real thing

@jame7t and @cryptotheism are a set i cant just recommend one at a time and also you have to follow both of them👍

@omegaversereloaded great taste in fashion and music which i can say even not being into the same stuff. but i can still recognize a well curated palette🔥

@sealsdaily seals. daily

@nasukichan really really cute Girl art :)

@heathcliffbot heathcliff :)

@mewcharm really great furry art i love their deergirl luv a lot

@things-that-are-not-true <- lies blog

@seat-safety-switch really great creative writing

@mamamunny 🦌girl art............

@unteriors love this blog for how often it posts places ive been in my dreams

@medievaljournalist funnie

@reallyreallyreallytrying obligatory

@nilnco rlly cute animalgirls..

@wiki-but-made-them-up what it sounds like :p

@wordswithimages 🔥👍

@bonequest stupid fuckin comic

@best-thing poll blog. to find the best thing

@bunny-lovez really amazingly adorable girl art

@obligatorymorningfart funnie comics

@scoobydoomistakes very interesting to me

@aistobascistod silly anologies

@irish-american-chan admirable blogger

@wikicamp2

@preservationofnormalcy JUST found this blog today looks really interesting

[ao3commentoftheday]

I did the thing with "multiple oneshots as chapters as a single fic" exactly twice, once for a weeklong challenge I never finished and once where I was collecting stuff surrounding a single character. Now I know better, but I'm not sure what to do with the oneshots in the fics--I don't want to give my subscribers a bunch of bogus notifications, clog up the tags (they're both very slow most of the time), and I worry some of the oneshots don't stand on their own well (specifically, one I wrote that was supposed to be a prelude to a second I didn't write and feels half-finished as a result). But I still feel bad having the compilation fics continuing to exist on my profile. Any advice on what to do here?

I can't say for sure since this ask came in so long ago, but I'm guessing this thought came up in relation to a discussion about how posting one shots as chapters of a single work is actually not a great experience on the reader's side of things, a lot of the time.

I can see a few options for you, anon.

Post the oneshots separately, like you say, but backdate them. Since tags populate by most recent (as the default), backdated works won't go to the top of the tag.

Edit the works and add a first chapter Table of Contents so that readers know which fic is which.

Leave the works as they are. They've already been up for a while and you don't want to lose any comments/kudos that might be attached. Yes, those works can be annoying for readers but it's not the end of the world and they can manage. Post oneshots separately in the future and don't feel guilty about choices that you made in the past ❤️

[bibliophilea]

#i will preface with this issue has gotten better in the last year (used to be 80% of the main tag and now it's under 50% which I appreciate) #so thank you to everyone who's aware and have been responsive in keeping things contained off the main dp tag #but on the situation here are my thoughts: #i'd argue most ppl in the dpxdc fandom have never seen any actual danny phantom episodes #we joke in the dp phandom like 'fuck canon it's a dollhouse we do what we want' #but that's just a joke #even if it's not perfect the dp characters still have personalities stories and goals in the OG show #so i see things posted and im like ???? this is not these characters at all ???? #they share names and descriptions sure but they don't share anything else #i've also seen people in dpxdc on reddit and stuff saying things like they 'revived the dp phandom' and other disrespectful things #we were always here #we're a small phandom sure but we're very active with events every year #u did not 'revive' us #i have to say this every time but im NOT anti-crossover #i write crossovers myself #i've been interacting with OG dpxdc since way before it was a trend and it's what brought me into the dp phandom in the first place #and i know im far from alone in that #i love new people i always think it's wonderful #but just like know that dpxdc is NOT dp #and that's why people in dp get annoyed #well that and all these characters and this world that is very much a giant massive different fandom #so please leave the dpxdc off the main tumblr tag #we're too small and y'all overpower us here #i've made the mistake of accidentally flooding a small fandom before - we're all human and we all make mistakes #but i just quietly retagged my content and then didn't use their main tag moving forward #easy as pie (tags from @lexosaurus)

All of this. Like, DP does play fast and loose with canon, but it's still playing with canon. There's a basis that we all share that makes the characters recognizable, even when we throw them in AUs that explore how those characters would change due to the AU.

DPxDC of recent years, for the most part, does not share that basis. It takes the names and faces of characters in DP and characters in DC, and it builds its own fanon basis to fit the stories it wants to tell.

And there's nothing wrong with that! Fandom is a sandbox! Go play!

But don't go saying that you "revived" the Phandom sandbox just because DPxDC got popular. Danny Phantom on FanFiction.Net has been top 5 in the cartoons category since the early 2000's. It's only recently dropped to number 6. Phandom has a long history of events celebrating both canon and fanon. Heck, #dannypocalypse has gotten Danny Phantom trending every year on tumblr since its inception, to the point that Box Lunch has a Danno face enamel pin you can go out and buy. Claiming that DPxDC "revived" Phandom is disingenuous to Phandom history, and insulting to the pholks who have been here, building community and interacting with Phandom the whole time.

Phandom has always been in this sandbox, playing with our blorbos, building worlds that fill out our common basis in different ways. It kind of feels like we're getting steamrolled every time DPxDC folks suggest filtering the tags (a lot of us do) and blocking folks (a lot of us do) to not see DPxDC (we see it anyways because a lot of DPxDC folks still tag the main fandoms and don't tag the crossover). Folks who want to see DP and DC separately from DPxDC (which looks almost nothing like DP and almost nothing like DC for the most part) get hit the worst. They're forced to pick one fandom to block entirely - DP or DC - because of the lack of consistent tagging. It's really unfair.

A number of my good friends whom I met through Phandom have been driven out of Phandom because of DPxDC fandom behavior tied to the assumption that DPxDC has a common basis with Phandom (it doesn't, for the most part - mainly just common character names and appearances), the assumption that DPxDC "revived" Phandom (Phandom has been small but strong since before I stepped foot in Phandom), and the assumption from there that most of Phandom media is going to look like DPxDC media but without Batman or Constantine or Superman (a lot of it is very different from DPxDC character-wise and lore-wise and worldbuilding-wise). It's kind of disheartening, and it's antithetical to the idea of a "revival" of Phandom caused by DPxDC.

I guess, main thing I want to say is that DPxDC is its own sandbox doing its own thing. And that's wonderful! Have fun! Even I enjoy dabbling there sometimes! But Phandom and DC fandom are also their own sandboxes doing their own things. And sometimes - due to a lack of consistent tagging, but also due to assumptions made that are largely untrue - it feels like a number of DPxDC folks act like Phandom and DC fandom and DPxDC fandom are one and the same, when they're really not.

Again, there's nothing wrong with DPxDC having fun with fandom! But Phandom and DC fandom want to have fun, too! And it's a lot harder when the onus is placed on us to block tags and block people until our tag is clear of your fandom (which it never is). And even then, it gets complicated when a lot of Phandom folks would be fine interacting with DPxDC as its own thing, outside of the Danny Phantom tag; and it gets even more complicated when folks are in Phandom, and in DC fandom, and don't necessarily want everything about those fandoms to be overshadowed by a crossover that has taken on a life of its own.

finding out danny phantom fans are sick of dc/batman crossovers clogging THEIR tags is frying me idk why I never considered that. we are in the same damn boat omg