Tumgik
#where are these from id like to put credits
caramellashton · 1 year
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Hes so tiny but also ..not 😂😭❤
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todayisafridaynight · 10 months
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Sohei 🤝 Kazama: Bad dads
who even IS a good dad in this series like who even is a dad that we can all look at and go 'now THATS a good dad right there'
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foldingfittedsheets · 1 month
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Since everyone seems to love my sex shop stories, here’s another one.
Phone calls were literally a game for us. Not all phone calls, but there was a specific brand of call where guys would creep on us. 90% of the workforce at the sex shops was women. So we’d get dudes calling jacking off or trying to get their jollies from us.
The game: make them hang up. We could have hung up. On a few occasions I did, but for the most part we made a sport out of getting creeps to go flaccid. It really depended on a caller.
You couldn’t just go in for belittling them straight off- some guys wanted that. You had to tailor your strategy to the perv. Overall it was pretty fun and it turned an aspect of the job that could’ve become a major bummer into a fun sport. We’d get excited when the phones rang.
So one day the phone rings. I pick up and it was very clearly a young teen who was putting on a deep voice. I was utterly delighted, I’d never had a crank call before. He said, “I have a dildo emergency! Can you deliver 5 boxes of dildos to my home?!”
It took everything in me not to crack in that moment. It was so funny. It was like three kids had walked through the door in a trench coat and the phrase “dildo emergency” was one of the funniest things I’d ever heard.
But I kept it together. In smooth customer service tones I replied, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear you’re having an emergency, but due to the nature of our product we do require people to come pick it up themselves.”
The caller audibly deflated. Some of the deep voice he was putting on bled away when he said plaintively, “But it’s an emergency…”
“I’m sorry, sir, rules are rules.”
He hung up. I burst out laughing and told my coworker what had happened. She said, “I will buy you lunch if you call back and pretend you can deliver something.”
This sounded like an all around win for me, and the kid hadn’t used anything to block his number. So I called back.
“Hello!” This was before caller ID was common for home phones and so he picked up in his totally normal voice, several octaves higher than before.
“Hello, I’m calling regarding your dildo emergency?”
“Oh! Hem hem,” he coughed, getting his voice back into character for me. “Yes! The emergency!”
“Well I’ve spoken to my manager and it’s your lucky day. We’ll be able to make a delivery after all. Five boxes you said? We can swing it by later, we’ll just need your name, address, and credit card number.”
He was thrown by needing to provide info and was silent for a moment then said, “Well how much is it for five boxes?”
“About five hundred dollars, sir.”
He slipped out of his character voice to exclaim, “Five hundred dollars?! What kind of dildos are they?!”
“Just standard six inches with balls, sir.”
This was his breaking point. He started wheezing with laughter trying to repeat the phrase “six inches with balls” incoherently.
“So your address and card info?”
He hung up and I broke down laughing too. We both got a kick out of it, and I won the game twice in one day.
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deadpooly · 11 months
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i am going to talk abt sports in the tags
#edmonton oilers... leon draisatl#i mispelled his last name but whatever#anyways#he is so dangerously over hyped#like it makes me want to tear my hair out#tonight he scored FOUR GOALS which is insane truly#but all those goals he was stagnant in front of the net/around the net#it was very 'right place right time' kinda thing#and nobody really sees that#because during the rest of the game this man does not backcheck at all#he doesnt support defense#even in the offensive zone hes never skating as hard as his potential could even allow him#one pet peeve i have about him is if its going away from the net or there isnt an obvious chance where he could pull a goal out#he doesnt pressure any opponents or even try for the puck#people LOVE him and idk why#but as a player if i had someone on my team constantly getting credit for playing like that just because they put points up... id be upset#because hockey isnt just about the points#its about the effort the TEAMWORK the passion for the game the skill development#hes a very subtly selfish player and i think the casual fan doesnt notice it#but ive definitely had my fair share of playing with and coaching and reffing selfish players and he doesnt differ much from them#im not gonna lie mcdavid wasnt that stellar either#the second and third line showed more teamwork and hustle than they did#hard work beats talent when talent doesnt work hard#and the oilers have definitely lost their teamwork aspect#anyways i could dive into this deeper with more solid evidence than just my word but at the end of the day its just a hockey game#and its just an opinion that definitely doesnt effect their paychecks lol
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capslocked · 3 months
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HONNE, TATAMAE & THE OTHER ONE
male reader x shin yuna
9k words
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Yuna shuffles into your office with the same sneaky smile, the same easy slouch, and she settles into one of the chairs across the table. There is, apparently, more to talk about.
It's a matter of image, of perception, is what she knows. 
You know every good lie starts with the truth.
So you swallow. You pause. Some other part of you understands Yuna can't ignore who she really is, and you’re not sure you can either.
-
Look - Shin Yuna is the kind of woman that turns heads, even with the best of intentions. A long, lithe silhouette; an easy, rosy sort of youthfulness clinging to the swell of her cheekbones, the curve of her waist. Take a dress that's cut to show a little thigh, or a hairstyle pushed back on one side - earrings, or heels, or just the subtle swipe of red over her lip - it doesn't take much for men (or anyone else) to figure that out. A girl who, more times than not, really ought to have a boy's hand planted on her ass, in possession.
So the opportunity to capture such a form perfected - all toned and graceful and flush for curves, her legs never seeming to end, the slithering fit of the dresses - these were the things they wanted. Package it, put a logo on it - better yet, a ribbon or a bow - and ship it straight to the consumer.
Somebody everyone wants, somebody no one can ever have.
“So,” Yuna asks from the other side of your desk, lips slanting halfway coy. “Are you going to treat me like an adult?"
Her fingers play idly with the hem of her skirt, and she lets a long, slender leg slowly slide out from beneath her.
“In what way,” you answer, half paying attention.
"The photos." She doesn't have the slightest qualms about lifting it higher. The soft creak of leather, and a deepening smile. "Am I not allowed to be a little racy?"
"That's certainly... one way of looking at it."
You glance away from where her stockings wrap around the soft curve of her thighs to flip back through the photos in your lap, one after the other, each a little different from the last. The beach, the sun, a flimsy white slip of a bikini top that hides exactly nothing, her muscles wet and glistening and perfect. Beyond suggestive, it's considerably inappropriate.
But then to a lot of people, Yuna is a lot of things. 
She’s more clever than anyone gives her credit for. And she’s fucking gorgeous, sure. That’s definitely not up for debate, but god is she young - she's barely twenty. And here’s some rather uninteresting food for thought: you couldn't even technically take her for a drink without faking an ID or breaking some law or another, like a real one. So go ahead, chew that down. Girls her age are typically studying, or working a retail job and getting wasted on the weekends. And they aren't typically making six, seven figures turning their head to the camera and asking how much more skin?
You have some thoughts.
Prudently, you’re her publicist, and it’s your job to make sure that the public gets a good look at her and sees exactly what you want them to see. It's unfair. She wields sex like a weapon. She's got the face, the body; it's an easy sell, commodified and commercialized down to the finest detail, the softest curve, the slightest arch of her brow. The idea's to not let anyone look too long, should they catch something you haven't approved yet, or the fact that she's quite possibly a real person with a real life and real feelings, which could easily fuck up her brand, so unfortunately, that's a bit of a no-go.
Sign of the times maybe, no ethical consumption under another something, yadda yadda - it's a shitty business, really, and the whole thing usually leaves a sour taste in your mouth.
(And just to be upfront, as an important disclosure: you are fucking her brains out on the side, which is a different kind of ethical dilemma, with a different kind of flavor to it. 
You’re supposed to be something of a role model - and she’s gone and fucked up bad by falling for you. From her perspective, it probably makes sense. Girl gets boy, bespoke song, credits roll and it's fine. No sin to atone, no 'after'. 
It was supposed to be a one time thing. It’s metastasizing into something you’re not even going to attempt to put into words. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, you know that. And you know the girl has daddy issues, but then you've never had a problem whatsoever playing into it. The possessiveness, the control - she gets off on it. You're pretty sure that she'd do just about anything if you asked her, and you'll admit that the thought alone makes your stomach stir, your mouth run dry.)
Yuna taps her knuckles on the wood of your desk. “What’s the verdict?” 
"Well, professionally," you say, caveat in hand, and you give the photos one last flip through. "I'd say they're fine.”
"Oh?" Yuna cocks her head to the side. Her long, blonde hair curtains over her shoulder, and the smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth is almost wicked. She leans forward, chin propped on a palm, and you see that her expression is bright, glittering with interest. "And unprofessionally?"
Sure. It's a fair question.
Though she's wearing her stage face, the one that looks all big eyes and doe lashes, a hint of a pout on her plush bottom lip, and she's staring at you expectantly, the way she might look at a man she's just asked for the time.
You've seen her look a million other ways. You've seen her with her knees spread, her cheeks flushed, on all fours, straddling your lap, face pressed into the sliding glass door of your shower, her eyes screwed shut as she chokes out your name. And god, doesn’t she look good in all of them.
Your fingers tap against the photos.
“Unprofessionally," you tell her, and the smile on your face is tight - unknowable. "I think they’re a little… gaudy."
Yuna frowns, and it's just a flash before her expression is carefully blank again, the stage face back in full swing. She's been doing this since she was a teenager, so the mask is impeccable, but you know her, and you know that she's thinking: about the photo shoot, the way the photographer was looking at her, and the way you had looked at her later, too.
She knows what you've seen. She's wondering if that's why.
"Really," she asks, a note of disappointment in her voice.
"Really," you confirm with a small sigh, though you're still smiling. It's a small, private sort of smile, like you're remembering a joke. You don't miss the way she glances down at your mouth either. "Let me be clear, you have a shot at real success. I mean, you have a chance at a career. A real, sustainable career.”
She's sitting there with her legs crossed, her foot tapping restlessly, and when she's silent for a moment too long, the way her eyes narrow just a smidge, her head tipped slightly, you realize how it sounds. Patronizing.
"Look," you amend. You're not the best at apologies, but you try. "I just mean - I think that you could be doing something that you actually enjoy."
"Who says I don't enjoy this," she says, and there's a bite in her tone, a challenge. She's leaning back in her seat now, arms crossed.
"What, taking your clothes off for the camera?" You laugh, a quick bark. Isn’t that a cruel question, and you can see it in the way her eyes flash. "You could do a lot more than that, I'm just saying."
"Right," she says, and she doesn't blink, doesn't even move. Her gaze is fixed, unwavering. "Because I'm not pretty enough."
You open your mouth. Close it.
It's not a question. It's a statement.
"That's not what I'm saying-"
"Do you know what makes me different from the IT-girl-of-the-month? The Jang Wonyoungs, the Bae Irenes, the Kim Jisoos of the world?" Yuna cuts in.
"Yuna, this isn't-"
"You should know. " She laughs. "It's your job, knowing things, isn't it?"
The silence stretches thin between you. She's not wrong. There’s the quintessential beauty, the timeless classic, the fantasy-wrapped-up-as-a-daydream - oh, it's all sexual, but the product there is palatable (read: marketable). An idea the general public wants to take home to their mother, not take to bed. A beauty so docile and innocent, you feel guilty harboring those untoward thoughts it makes you have.
Yuna is somewhere possibly, someway probably the opposite. You’ve sold her as such, as fantasy in sheep's clothing. She's neither afraid to put the images to words, nor speak her desires aloud. It's her own brand of sensuality, and it's what the public wants - has always truly wanted, since the dawn of man and of popstars fucking their publicists - what the public wants but turns itself in knots just to pretend they don't. The only way it’ll end up in anyones’ parents' home is under the guise that it will be smuggled upstairs and held down into the springs of a mattress. Hand over her mouth, or maybe around her throat, just so she'll shut up.
She's not a nice girl, or the girl-next-door, a bride-in-a-box, but you'd known that before. The line between fact and fiction is fine indeed.
"You're different," you tell her, finally.
"When I first came in here, you had no qualms, no issue to raise, and now all of a sudden, everything is too much," she says, and she's not smiling, her tone flat. "If it was a problem from the jump, you would've said so."
“I just think a little subtlety would be a nice change of pace. It could go a long way, I mean, I could show you the data- "
"So you're going soft on me, is that it?"
You blink, and the realization hits.
"Just where was this noble version of you when we first started out? You had no problem then, remember? Put a sixteen-year-old in front of a camera, in this industry, and all of a sudden-"
"Don't."
“And suddenly it's all 'oh no, that's a little too much, we need to dial it back'." She sighs, a single sharp burst. "Why is that? Is it because you think that now you own me? I fuck you, swallow your cum and call you daddy, and now these are your decisions? Is that it?"
She’s standing now, her chair shoved back so fast it nearly clatters to the floor. There's a storm on her face, almost a rage. This now become a familiar story. The one where the girl's too pretty for her own good. Too much, too soon.
"I'm not a child," she tells you, her tone measured, a sharp contrast to the fire in her eyes. "I know what I want. I know how to get it. You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I'm different. You're right."
She's different, but the girl's clever, too. And she's stubborn. It's a dangerous combination.
You breathe slow. "Then why don’t you act like it."
“If they’re going to call me a slut,” she hisses, and she's walking forward. Her palms land on your desk, hard, and you glance down at her clenched fists, at her neatly kept nails, "you know, after we leak them all those steamy photos online-"
Your mind clicks. You reach to slam the cover of the photo book shut. She's caught your hand, though, in hers, holding it firmly to the desk.
Yuna glances at the photos over again, at the tight fit of the swimwear, or how the ties slip in an invisible breeze. And she's biting her lip, trying not to smile, you can tell. "You know it might be worth it for once," she says, slipping a finger between the buttons of her shirt.
There's a long, tense moment, and before you can register it, Yuna has rounded your desk; she’s closing the distance, fast. 
And she’s lowering her eyes. Putting her lips on yours.
It knocks the wind from your sail, for just the instant. You're speechless.
Because her fingers. Her mouth. Her hair. Yuna's everywhere, and she's warm. It's utterly selfish, you understand: you want her to be yours. You want her to be yours and no one else's.
She’s realizing she might be.
You feel her grabbing for more of you. Wanting. She tilts her head, her breath hot, and you kiss her back, her mouth slick against your own, and the kiss is a fast, deliberate kind of messy. Your teeth catch her bottom lip, and her tongue slips past yours, licking into your mouth, her hands clutching at the collar of your shirt. It's not like it is when you're fucking, which is slow and hot, and she's on her back, legs around your waist, her nails biting into your skin, or when she's bent over the arm of the sofa, her ass in the air and her back arched, her breathless moans a chorus of yes, yes, please. This kiss is more battle, more heat, less gentle and less finesse. It's the kind of kiss that's just short of an argument.
"You're an asshole," she breathes into your mouth, and it's not a compliment.
You smile against her.
"So are you," you murmur, and her lips are parted, her eyelids fluttering shut, her breath coming quick and hot.
"Then maybe you should just fuck me," she says. She's not asking. “Yeah.” You press your words right into her neck, her collarbone. “Maybe I should.”
Your hands are on her hips faster than you can realize what it is they’re doing, palms pressing into her, and then you're walking her backwards, shuffling a few steps until the small of her back collides with the edge of your desk, and you're lifting her up onto the surface, the photographs falling to the floor, scattering.
"I thought we weren't supposed to do this here," she murmurs, pulling away for just a moment, her mouth swollen and wet, her eyes dark. She knows exactly what it does to you: the goading, the taunting - the looks of faux-innocence later over a bare shoulder, her ass in the air. How it can get you to fuck her within an inch of her life. What it’ll get her, the return on investment.
"And I thought we agreed to longer skirts."
Her thighs are smooth, silky, and they part, the lace of her underwear stark against her skin. You slide a hand beneath the elastic band, sinking down, and down, until she inhales sharply.
"The fuck do you end up doing going up the stairs?" you add, and your fingers are tracing the swell of her hip, and you can feel the goosebumps on her skin.
She bites her lip. You sink down to press a kiss to her thigh, and then the other.
"Nothing," she tells you, and her eyes are wide. "I guess it all just hangs out."
She simply smirks right back into you, throws her arms over your shoulders. You’re snared, caught - she’ll always be able to fuck what she wants right out of you.
"Jesus, Yuna." Your hand curls around her wrist, thumb pressed to her pulse, and her shoulders roll back.
You push her down, and she's sprawled across the desk, legs stretching wide, her head tilted back and her chest heaving. “God, you’re so fucking wet, and I've barely touched you. That turns you on? Being a brat?"
She sucks air past her teeth, and you can measure each rise and fall of her chest. The lace under her hips is soaked, her pussy swollen and pink. Like if she doesn’t get your hot, open mouth on her clit this instant, you’re both going to have a problem.
You slip two fingers into her instead, and Yuna keens.
"I know it does," you say, and your voice comes out lower, drier than you expect. She's hot, so wet around you, her pussy fluttering. "It fucking turns me on, too."
"Please," and “god,” is what all you receive back in half whispers, while her legs are spread, her heels now really dug into the square of your back, and she's got a fistful of your hair like she owns it. Her voice is high, her eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be such a fucking tease."
You're not going to make it easy. She's not going to make this quick.
"What, and you aren’t?"
You curl your fingers inside her, and the noise that leaves her is positively obscene. She's grinding against your palm, her hips bucking, and her lips are parted, her eyelashes dark and thick, fanning her cheeks. She's panting, her thighs trembling.
"No," she breathes. If she’s shaking her head, you can’t tell. "I'm exactly what you tell them I am."
Your hand stills, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the pressure inside her is gone. Her eyes snap open, her mouth twisted.
"Fuck you," she spits. "Put them back."
You're already sinking down to your knees, and you've got her skirt shoved up, the lace panties pulled aside, her hips canted, her pussy glistening. The stockings can stay, fuck, the heels, too. She's so fucking hot, her legs spread apart and her lips red. Her palm shoved into her brow, and her breath just barely more than a ragged huff of air. You can feel her body wound tight and ready, her eyes on the ceiling.
You put your tongue against her, flat and slow. Inaccurate, indiscriminate, licking up her wet cunt. And her whole body arches off the desk, a cry leaving her mouth with her head thrown back. Her thighs are shaking, and her heel presses into your shoulder, and god, she tastes incredible.
"Please." It comes like music, really, a song of desperation. You can hear it. She's singing it for you now. "Oh god, please, fuck-"
So you do her one better. You put your whole mouth over her, and she fucking shivers. You don’t even try to ease into it - you're devouring, ravishing her, working your lips and tongue all over her pussy, lapping the length of her in broad, hot strokes, and she's almost shrieking, her body going taut. You suck on her lips, pressing your tongue into her clit, and when you pull off her, your hand takes over the place where your tongue can't quite reach, her wetness slick around your fingers. Yuna's close - you can see that she is, you can hear that she is, and it's her gasp that lets you know.
"I'm -" she says, her voice reaching higher, her nails digging into the flesh of your shoulders, the wood of your desk. The sound she makes is wretched and beautiful. "God, I'm cumming, I'm cumming - fuck!"
The licking, the lapping, the fucking fingering. You can feel her slicked cunt pulse and throb in a satisfied, anticipatory kind of way. Even if she wasn’t audibly wet around your knuckles, you’d read Yuna like a map.
Your thumb taps across her clit, once - twice, thrice, and it’s just that.
She arches off your desk, thighs trembling as your tongue works her over, This hard, hungry kiss, and she tastes as sweet as she looks - as filthy as she acts, too. Her pussy is slick, her hips rolling, her body trembling, and she's making soft, little ah, ah, ah, sounds into the wet seal of your mouth. She's trying to keep it quiet, because she knows as well as you, everyone in the damn office does, probably - it's one thing to play at being a slut. A complete other to really fuck like one.
Your finger slips in and out of her pussy, and then another. They fill her up. The knuckles bending and pushing deeper. Yuna's fucking ruined - your desk is ruined.
But then there you are, complicit, and perhaps a little evil: licking and licking and licking right into her, making her grip twist in your hair and her thighs clench around your face. You can feel it in how her breathing is coming fast, faster, her whole body growing taut, and it was never going to take long, you figure, the way her hips were rolling the moment you got your hands on her. You can tell. She's close, and she's so pretty, all flushed and writhing, her skirt hiked up, her ass perched on the edge of your desk, and when her mouth falls open and her breath catches in her throat, you pull yourself up to watch her, the heel of your hand pressed against her clit, and she's shaking.
"Look at me,” you tell her, a kiss trailing unsatisfyingly into the crease of her thigh, your voice running coarse.
She does, her gaze glassy, and the sound that leaves her mouth is a sob. That’s all it really takes.
“Show me. What face you make when you cum on my fingers sweetheart, show me what a slut you actually are-"
You can watch it all in real time, the panting, the heaving. The sculpted lines of her pretty face screw up, real tight, and she lets out another moan, breathier this time, her mouth hanging open. She does it again when you press down. And Yuna fucking shakes, her hands balled, white-knuckling, and the desk rattling beneath her.
It's all a matter of slight degradation, you’ve learned, the barest humiliation. Like the paradoxical freedom she knows she can find in a hand clenched tight around her throat or her hair pulled and twisted into a fist or the sharp sting of a smack across her ass. Her pretty face. She likes a little something that burns. Something sinewy, visceral, raw: you call her a whore, a filthy fucking cumslut and it makes her body curl like she has hot metal pressing into her skin. Makes her breathless, like she wants you to own her.
Sometimes it's better than being fucked.
(Sometimes.)
Because just look at her: she’s in the middle of coming apart, mouth fallen slack, brow furrowed - and she gets real quiet when she cums, the absolute opposite of the journey she’d taken to get there, all those loud little, uh-uh-ah, fucking please god, her moans, her whimpers - her orgasm ripping right through the middle of her, the hourglass of her entire body stiffening on borrowed time as it washes across her features.
You let out a loud sigh, something she can moor herself to that isn’t your fingers, the desk, or your hair at the roots. Yuna can be every bit as uncomplicated as she can be complex, but god, you love her most like this: an unrehearsed, beautiful mess.
"Baby," you tell her, because it's easier to just call her that, and because you don't know how else to end the statement, because you know if you ask, she'll let you - hell, she'll beg for more, and that’s got your brain feeling rather mushily incoherent at present.
"Daddy," she responds - because of course she fucking does; she’s gasping, and her cheeks are still so pink, her body sated, and your heart leaps into your throat. 
It's a problem; you've been trying to work it out for a good few months now, and by this, you mean the little moment you have right after you're done, where your eyes meet, and you smile at her. A problem, too, her lips. A problem, because she kisses you, soft, and slow, and easy. A problem, because her heart's probably already yours.
If anyone were to ask, you would have said there's no greater pleasure than knowing a girl that's almost died to take your cock, but maybe that's the point: it's just supposed to feel a bit better if you're a little head over heels, a little stupid about it too.
"I'm going to use this perfect pussy now," you warn her - just simple formality - because you're already rolling her down onto her back, your cock hard and aching against your trousers.
You've got your hands on her stockings, tugging them down to her ankles, the lace of her panties around her thighs, the neat garter of her garter belt wrapped around her hips, her cunt bare beneath it. You unzip, too slow. You tug yourself out.
“I’ll be good,” she says to you, a promise.
“Yeah,” you return to her, “I know.”
And you slip your cock into her cunt, just barely - maybe an inch, maybe more - and you hear a little noise leave her throat, low. Broken. 
“Fuck,” she murmurs, and god, you just can't help it, it's easy; you sink deeper, nice, slow, everything smooth inside her, until another broken sort of gasp spills off her lips. 
And then another: "oh my fucking god."
You snap your hips back in, bottoming out this time in the wet heat of her perfect cunt, and she just fucking collapses. Yuna looks like an absolute dream in this state of half-dress, half-distress: black suede around the ankles, stilettos, with just the perfect heel. There are worse things, you can imagine, and she looks perfect sprawled out against your notes and portfolios, all this hot, aching want. As gorgeous as she is fucked. You tear into her stockings, a little. You’ll tear more. 
You already know you're going to hell. Or at least that’s where you should already be, but you hips crash into hers again, fucking her legs wider apart, spreading her open across your desk for you, getting her slick all over the photos, her career - it’s all so perfectly unfair.
"You have no idea, the things I want to do to you right now," you breathe, your tone hushed, and you're talking again, like you often do. There goes your mouth - but your hips drag back, and then again, her pussy clenching, vice tight and impossibly wet.
It's a long, torturous, lazy sort of a pull, that draws these pretty thin moans from the very center of her.
And the way that feels, your cock buried deep in her cunt: better than good - heaven, if you care enough about labels for it, or the names of things. You haven’t any real way to tell; the gates haven't opened or anything, so all you're working from here is an educated guess. From the fact that Yuna’s eyes have slid closed, her lips parted, and her whole body starting now to tremble gently with it.
"Jesus, this perfect, tight pussy grips me so good, god - such a good girl, always so fucking wet for me," and your mouth is pressed to the arch of her ear, whispering every last thing you know will make her cum again, like a dream.
And she is, she does.
She's twisting up to grip at your hips, her head falling to one side. When you drag your cock through her cunt, slowly, you watch her lips purse and the way the flush moves all the way down the column of her neck, past her collarbone, her shirt half undone and her tits heaving against the white, sheer fabric. You fuck her for a little, and then you roll your hips slow, so slow. 
Until your pace is fucking punishing, deep, and so hard. You can’t help it.
Because it's unbelievable - she's so perfect, so tight around you. Fit snug like a glove, like she was made to take your cock, to whimper and mewl at your mercy. Her lips part further and she keens, her brows twisting in similar disbelief as you pound your length into her. The heat pooled in your belly, the way she looks under your desk: fuck, she's so beautiful like this, properly fucked. 
You'd let her ruin you for life - it's that simple.
"Yuna, you - fuck," you barely say, and you sound more than slightly stunned, so she’s filling in the gaps, elaborating in the spaces you cannot - that she loves it, that you’re so good for her, and so is that, and that, and that - the way it hits, right there, keep fucking her just like that, because right there, right there, right there, right there - the way she props herself up on her elbows to tell you, "you're fucking me so deep, oh my god - yes, oh my god, fuck."
By the time Yuna shudders through another orgasm, a silent ghost of a wail leaving her pretty frozen mouth, her lashes are batting against her cheeks, and she's biting her lip, so hard you're certain she's going to break the skin, her back strung like a bow. It's the look on her face, that soft sort of reverence, and how her lips are swollen and spit-slick, the pretty hollow of her throat. Your thrusts become faster, shorter - your own moan thick in your throat, your jaw hanging slack.
“Here,” you say, and she’s just putty between your fingers, on your cock.
You’re flipping her around, onto a different angle. You know she likes it, the way her tits are pressed against your desk, and it's hot the way her ass tilts right into your hips, arched. Proffering. "Be good for me, and spread yourself open."
She's already so meek when she complies. "Anything, sir. Stretch me out; I want you to make me yours."
God, she's practically purring when she talks like this. She knows exactly what that fucking does to you. Knows that when her eyes draw back, big and watery and full, you're a goner - if your cock wasn't deep in her pussy, fucking her open and raw, the view would nearly be enough. And all of this, the pretense, the pantomime, she knows how to bend the line of your body to her own, because when she turns, and presses her red mouth to the crest of her shoulder, you are hers.
You could probably cum, right now, deep down into the molten hot of her cunt: if your hips keep up their ruthless pace, if her ass was sticking up the slightest bit more - the sound that would come from her.
"Take that perfect cock - and fuck my pussy up," Yuna mewls, her voice saccharine and slurring, a touch whiny. She rolls her hips. Your cock grinds, still, though it stutters now - shallow and quick.
"All this pussy, for daddy's cock," and you're sure that the entire office can hear her now, the moans that escape from her mouth - but you can't even find it in you to care. You're caught, all of her a net you've willingly been ensnared by, and here you figure that's the slightest bit appropriate; you're so fucked, and it's funny, too. Funny enough to laugh about, later. "Nobody fucks this tight little pussy the way you do, sir."
It's a smile she hears in your voice when you say, "is that right? Go on then, let’s hear all the things you'd have me do to your slutty little cunt."
The line's crossed again, in some indecipherable direction. Where, again, exactly, does it matter? There are lines and lines, and none of them quite mark the beginning, the end, the periphery. This time you don't pull back; you dig deep, and it makes Yuna cry out like you’re killing her. Which, in a way - you already have.
So your hips stutter forward again, once more, and you lean into the slant, so fucking deep it's practically impaled. There’s nothing quite like holding this girl’s hips and pounding her from behind. Her pussy alone is fucking incredible. And the sound her ass makes against the flat of your stomach, the crease of your thighs - it's unimaginable, the way Yuna makes these little squeaks of a noise, like half-broken moans, when you fuck deep, deep, deeper into her. The way her arms splay wide and search frantic across your desk. And as you grab her slim, dainty wrist, pin it back and pull her tight - fixing her upright until you have her head lolling back against your chest - you simply fucking pound away.
Fucking all these little curses and sounds of appreciation out of her throat. Your cock forcing out each syllable, "yes," and "fuck," and "god, oh my fucking god - I cannot believe," now on repeat, how her tone grows tighter. How she moans - a lot, like something's being worked loose.
"Uh-uh," and you're holding her steady now, with one broad, strong hand at the back of her neck. "Keep telling me, and maybe I'll let you cum."
Your free hand finds purchase in her hair. Yuna's groan coming out pathetic and wanting, her mouth half open. You wrap her silky golden locks around your fist, her hair thread neatly through your fingers, and then give the slightest of yanks.
Christ, her pussy just fucking soaks onto you. Greedy. Needy.
"Shit," and Yuna gasps when she can, where she's allowed to.
"Oh, is my little girl into getting her hair pulled?" and you can see the signs of affirmation: the muscles inside her flexing, grasping you as you roll in, a small, soft nod, and the way she sighs your name, like a prayer on her lips.
Listen, she can barely speak, the way you're fucking her apart. Yuna's body is wound like a bow, like string and taught wire. Bent into the side of the desk and open for you, her pussy pulsing tight around you with every stroke.
"Sir, I'll do - whatever you need, just - just - let me have your cum, please -" and there, she's begging now, and her voice is tinny, breaking, breathless and airless.
Then it’s her fucking hair. You pull so much on it harder this time, with another measured thrust inside her, your body flush against her ass. Fingerprints searing down onto where her hips flare and taper, impossibly narrow.
You’re probably hurting her. You’re probably ruining her for anyone else - nothing will ever satiate her more than the way she sobs as your fingers twist tighter through her hair. Around her fucking miracle of a waist. It's an obscene sound that echoes down to your cock, as deep, hot and fucking filthy as her cries when she cums for the third, fourth?
"Just," Yuna barely makes, her eyelids heavy, her gaze flitting somewhere behind her. "Just look at you, fucking me so hard, filling up my tight little pussy, making me take everything your cock has to give. God, you love wrecking my perfect little hole, don't you?"
No, or yes, or probably. You’ll figure out the details later.
"God, I love it when you get real messy, when I get you like this-" your words run seamlessly into the searing heat between your bodies, like punctuation, like the end of days -
"Use me." She doesn't just say it. "Take me, and cum in me, wherever you want. Daddy, you can have my mouth, or, or, you can - you can finish inside me."
And god, you could, you really could: just the timbre of her voice does things to you, the way that it curls around the words daddy, and sir, and you're fucking me so goddamn good. She's saying them now, her whimpers breaking into outright moans and all: shit, please, please - you're gonna make me cum - oh - oh fuck! And when she's wound that tight, a quivering, sopping mess of a girl, you put your fingers against her clit, circling and pressing in tempo to the thrust of your cock.
The cruel metronome that makes. Hell, it fucking sends her.
She’s begging you to finish inside her. It's fucked up - and she knows it. She wraps her heels around the square of your back, and the tension rises, and rises, the coiled spring tight and waiting - just a push away, so you slam into her once, then twice more, the push of a hand splayed between her tits and your fingers digging into the muscle of her thigh. She wants you to cum in her pussy, fill her right up; she tells you that, again, that she wants it, and her voice is raspy, high. That she wants you now, as if she didn't before, and how does this compare, because she needs it now.
You hold out for just a little. You’re holding your breath. Just a little, just until Yuna’s eyelashes flutter open over her shoulder and she says your name, so sweetly, and says, "please, just, inside."
You shouldn't.
You can't.
So here, barely able to think at all, you end up doing the unthinkable - thinking all the while of pumping her right to the finish and draining your balls straight into the deepest reach of her cunt, how fucking tempting it may be - you muster an ounce of good judgment still adrift in a sea of lust. Your throbbing cock draws out of that wet, inviting heat and into your fist, and watch how that makes her begin to unspool: the way she tries to press her knees shut. She's sobbing for it, pleading, her lashes dark with tears. "No, no, fuck me, please, I'm begging you. Please, I'm going to be so good - god, please -"
You tug her back, look her in the eye, and let out a loud, shaky exhale. "Knees, princess."
She's too wracked with need to do anything other than comply. Her jaw drops. “But-”
"Mouth," you cut in, sharp enough that her gaze lifts, and you're right there - on the precipice, so close, watching her tongue dart out of her mouth to run across the swell of her bottom lip.
Watching her knees fold into the carpet, her stockings down loose around her thighs, her underwear hanging off an ankle. The rise and fall of her chest like rolling waves, and you can see her hands fisting on her knees, and her face: you watch the emotion flash over, like water on glass, and a moment is all it takes. She leans her face forward to your hand, as you wind her hair into your fist, her lips parted and her gaze lowered. She's obedient, taking the weight of your cock with her pretty pink mouth like the fucked-up-little-fantasy that she is, opening so nice and wide.
Her eyes flit up to yours, her mascara-ringed lashes fanned against the pink of her cheeks.
"My face," she tells you, or something close to it, "fuck my face. Go ahead, use it - cum all over me."
Your cock slides halfway home, her cheeks hollowing, and when it presses to the back of her throat, she gags. You curse and tip your head back, the wood of your desk digging into the flesh of your palm.
"What did you say," you half groan out. "Baby," you add, just for good measure, just to play along, "c'mon."
The tip of Yuna's tongue sweeps and swirls just beneath your cockhead, and she moans her answer around your length, lapping at a leak of precum. "I said," she's repeating now, her cheek brushing across your shaft, and you shudder. "Fuck, what I said was I want you to cum all over my face.
Jesus.
You bury your cock into her mouth once, twice. Let it sit there. Let her really struggle for it, the angle just a tad awkward from above. Let her lips stretch wide, and her shoulders shake a little - tears start to gather, pricking her eyes, her lipstick a mess, the way your cock fits, plugging up her throat so full. You hold her like that for just a second, a little less - until Yuna's moaning, the vibration low in her mouth, and her eyes flutter open, closed.
"Fuck," you spit out, and "perfect," and your voice is shot, your whole face warm, and you're going to cum on her - everywhere on her. Yuna, who’s been staring up at you in wide-eyed submission, gives you a little nod, like she means it.
Like she’s earned it.
And maybe she has: it only takes one last look to seal it - her hand curled around your cock, her cheek matted with her own spit and lipstick, the bright smudge of her own cum from the point of her chin to the cleft of her cupid's bow, and her eyes are locked on yours, eager and hot. Maybe she hasn't - and maybe you should make her beg, fuck her mouth some more - it's almost cruel, how she looks. A perfectly pretty picture, poised and pliant and waiting, and she's right there, beneath you, and fuck - this is so wrong, and you'll ruin her, you'll mark her up like this. She'll be painted like a work of art.
Your pulse thickens. Stands right up in your veins.
Then, your control, snapping: her pretty lashes flutter, her mouth gone slack, her jaw still tilted up like she expects a gift, an offering, her palm wrapped so nice and snug around the base of your cock, her expression dazed, and so easy, and perfect, so eager. You tilt your hips just a fraction further, and she fucking swallows, her tongue tracing the underside where you throb harder, heavier - her body lilting up as you press in so deep.
“God,” you breathe in, out. It hits hard. It hits fast. “Yuna-”
A tensing of your stomach coils up through like smoke, and your grip tightens on the edge of your desk, the other in her hair, a helpless, desperate thrusting, and there - it's a wonderful, brilliant sort of explosion, like light, the white-hot burn of a fever breaking. You cum all over her face and into her hair, spilling out streaks of hot, filthy white onto her sculpted features and the sweet line of her throat, and god, there's so much, she's taking it so easily, all her breathing hot and heavy and loud.
Her skin alabaster and porcelain; cotton and canvas; she lets you fucking paint her, all messy and ruined.
In fact she’s even smiling like she’s holding in a laugh, all gooey-soft with satisfaction, and you're jerking your cock slow through her slender fingers, even after there's nothing else left to give and every inch of her face is marked - the way she wears your cum like new skin. You feel the shockwave tear your nerves open, and then the calm, right on its heels, spreading out from your core to your fingertips, out through the roots of your hair.
"Ah," you exhale, a tight gasp. Yuna takes the entirety of you into her mouth, sucking down your length - harder - as she swallows back a final, sticky load, her own hair sweat-slick to her face.
Just look at the damage: that’s a story not even you’d be able to spin. There's cum on her nose, dribbling past her cheek. On her jaw and on her cheek. Filthy white streaked all over her parted lips, her neck. Down her shoulder blades, and soiling her hair, and leaking down past her collarbones.
(Christ, was this better or worse? You can't even tell. Every version of her that's been served on a plate for you has seen fit to make you sweat.)
When the dust begins to settle, you’re left panting and spent. Yuna, the collateral on this fine, whiny, disaster of a deal. A collection of photos, and some thoughts and ideas, that now sit disheveled on the ground. There's a scathing voice inside your head that's demanding to be heard, reminding you all-too-casually that this is not any way to manage a client. She could snap her fingers, call out to that sycophant at the top floor, and your career would be over - she could do anything she should ever desire.
You know, on a baser level, this, and worse: the duality of the thought. Her tight cunt on your desk, you on your knees; the sharp gasp you can steal from the top of her throat, perhaps when she feels the gentle pressure of teeth around one rosy nipple. The pinch of your thumb and index finger around the other. Her nails down your back in ten angry lines, and the throb in her throat, while you slide the whole width of a hand, rough, over the flesh of her ass.
Maybe the desk, like everything else, can just join the pile on the floor.
"Yuna," you say, the vowels pitching like a sigh.
Her palms find the sharp crease in your pants and slide upward. She's gazing up at you, bright, her face sticky with you.
"You can't send me out like this," she tells you, matter-of-factly, letting a smile cross the lines of her lips - or a smirk. A wordless extension of the previous sentence - of a few.
You pull out and away from her: a white and gray dotted tie hanging loose, unknotted; a button still fastened somewhere mid-center, your trousers pulled off and loose down just below your knees, the fly gaping open. She's in a similar state, the cups of her bra slipping loose, her mouth flushed, lips swollen and red, the outline of how she’d let you use her in a smeary, runny stain across her cheek.
"Maybe let your manager know," you tell her, pulling your belt in place, and you think you catch her eye rolling. "That you're going to be late."
Yuna doesn't hesitate.
"Tell her yourself," she responds, "I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear I'm not actually dead - just having gotten fucked stupid on my PR person's cock."
"I might forget to include a couple details."
"You shouldn’t." Her eyebrows jump. And she's chewing, lazily, on the full curve of her lower lip, her teeth glinting like razors. "Here, before you throw all this to the sharks -"
So, so very dramatic, and with this: her thumbnail pressed beneath your chin. It draws your gaze up - up, and down: from the splay of her legs and the gleam of wetness between them, a brief rest along the arcs of her chest - the room's a total fucking wreck. Your necktie, her skirt, her blouse, her pantyhose. The papers and books all spread, bent, broken, the stack knocked clean onto its side. The skirt's probably still pulled too far up her hips for decency, her breasts shoved up to her neck and the collarbone, and then there's her face - her chin streaked with cum. Yuna smiles then, the corner of her mouth pulled upward.
She might kiss her if you'd let her.
Cum on her lips be damned, she's beautiful like that, like she isn't even trying. And in fact, she never really had to - this girl, she'd do it alone. The idea that someone could be as universally loved as she, is enough, a marvel even, but here she is in front of you, every atom and curve a siren, a study in perfection and composition. Like she’s not just all your mistakes laid out to bear.
"Take a second to take a proper look, hm? Get all the memories in, while they're fresh."
"Because?"
"You can remember I'm only the person you say I am, for you."
"You can remember I'm only who you say I am, for you."
"Oh, of course," and the laugh that leaves your throat sounds dry, cracked open. The band of her skirt stretches, snaps back, so neatly that it leaves a pale line on her flesh. And now there are your hands, fitting around her hipbones, a sigh: a short, sudden motion, tugging her up. Yuna gasps: something surprised, delighted. She's all grins and teeth, all clean, bright incisors. 
"Mine," you're breathing, the flat of her stomach underneath the fingers you've placed upon it. "This is mine - you. Yours - you're all mine."
It’s possessive, but, you’re not all incorrect.
"Yeah," she more than agrees. 
There's a ribbon-taut quality in the way it leaves her mouth, the tension in her body coiled up through to the bones. She makes it sound like the beginning of a promise, the beginning of something much larger.
And by the way." She’s still buttoning her shirt. Putting herself together. You’ve seen the triage, the damage control. This is the Yuna you get. 
So, she needs the second - a respite to lick a stray stripe of slick and cum off her wrist - blotting her cheeks with a ball of wet tissue, until all that's left is the smeared lipstick, her stockings splayed around the floor. The pattern you've worn, where your fingerprints would've shown, gets covered up under her skirt and her coat, wrapped up in a scarf.
The smug satisfaction in her tone pulls your focus, just in time, her hair's falling in waves down her shoulders - perfect, but not flawless: there's a creased line, a hint of her throat, just beneath the collar. There's a slight wisp out of place. The buttons aren't arranged all the way from her collar to her sternum.
"I'm going to go with that photoset, with the white top, in the sand - gonna post 'em online and generate some buzz. You even said it yourself: they're fine. " She pauses, pushing away a strand of hair. "Professionally, of course."
"Professionalism." You smile. "Of course."
She walks out carrying the stilettos: pumps in either hand.
"Always. Catch you soon," she promises, and you do catch a last flash of her expression, lips parted, the lower curving into a satisfied smile, right as she flicks the lock on the door open and your office goes back to quiet.
For a split second, it's unbearable: the silence.
And you think again.
She can have anything, get any boy, girl, whoever, any designer, photographer, make-up artist in the world; there's something so unmistakably intoxicating about the fact that the thing she's decided she wants, is you.
2K notes · View notes
kyrianne · 1 year
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[Image ID: A series of screenshots from a Twitter thread by Jason Coupet / professajay.
Text begins: Man voting in Georgia is so different than in Illinois. When I lived in chicago, during early voting, I went to the local elementary school, waited in line about ten minutes, and they gave me a sheet of paper. I checked people off then I put it in the machine and left.
Not Georgia. We drove downtown because *every* other polling place had a line >90 minutes. We paid ten bucks to park. We went in the building, then emptied out pockets to go through a metal detector. We then saw a sign about where to park to get our parking validated. Inside.
We then waited in line ~80 minutes. We got to the end and we were given a form to fill out (?). We were told *not* to sign it until told. Then we were moved into a waiting room where we were given a ticket number, like when you are at the dmv.
We were told to get our IDs out and wait. We waited here for 15-20 minutes. When your number is called they took your form, did some stuff on the computer, then told you to sign the form. Then you get a little green card. You insert it into the machine.
Then you go through three or four prompts, including a very serious™️ warning about perjury, a totally necessary warning given how huge a problem stolen identity is for the purposes of voting on behalf of someone else.
You then finally vote, and after an “are you sure” prompt you get a sheet. You then have to walk the sheet over to feed it into a machine. About half of these were working.
The bottleneck was clearly the weird application and waiting room thing. There are two dozen people at a time sitting to have their stuffed checked. Think of it as regular voting except when you got there they had to run a credit check for *each person* like you need financing.
It was easier finishing my PhD paperwork. Thankful for the kind people (nearly all black women) the shepherded the processes. But man if you are poor or disabled or whatever, good luck yo. That should have been easier. We finished tho. Text ends.
Image ID: Two Black people are standing beside a city street and smiling at the camera, a man and a woman. The man has close-cropped hair and a beard. He is wearing a black hoodie that says Southside and has a sticker on his chest with a peach on it. The woman has large tortoiseshell browline glasses and long twist locs. She has a light brown leather crossbody bag, and is wearing a salmon-colored windbreaker. She also has a peach sticker on her chest, which she is pointing to. Her hand has a wedding ring. End ID]
7K notes · View notes
lizlovestofangirl · 20 days
Note
have you ever considered a coquette! gf and luke 👉🏻👈🏻 teeheeeee 🌷🎀🤍 ur smaus give me a purpose in life and a will to live 🥹
"my good looking boy"
luke castellan x daughterofaphrodite!coquette!reader
smau - luke loves his girl so much he lets her walk him like a dog (but coquettley )
🎧 - good looking by suki waterhouse
a/n: ahhhh i love this request! (btw u give me a will to live) i can just picture luke being difficult with everyone else and then letting his girl put bows in his hair and like him sleeping in her fancy pink bed AHHHH IM DYING (also percabeth is PERCABETHING in this)
*dont worry what the fc looks like, just picture yourself!* || *warnings: swearing and suggestive content* || *not checked so there might be mistakes*
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liked by silenaaaa, iamchrisrodriguez, and others
yn_yln he loves bows now
tagged itslukecastellan
view comments:
larueclarisse LMAO U HAVE HIM WHIPPED
yn_yln 🐕‍🦺
iamchrisrodriguez LMFAOOOOO
_groverunderwood yikes luke you just got called a dam dog
percy.jackson me personally id never take that
whosannabeth yes you would
percy.jackson yes i would
itslukecastellan and im the whipped one??
percy.jackson stfu
larueclarisse marry me??? 💍
yn_yln I DO
itslukecastellan what 🙂
silenaaaa SO CUTE Y/N
yn_yln YOU SEL
itslukecastellan i ❤️ my gf
yn_yln i ❤️ my bf
silenaaaa I CANNOT W THIS I LOVE LOVE
itslukecastellan where are my photo creds for the first picture????
yn_yln photo credits for the first picture go to this little shit head
whosannabeth @percy.jackson you'd take that too shithead
percy.jackson yeah...
yn_yln 🐕‍🦺
_groverunderwood that dam bow
yn_yln still concerned about the timing of this original joke
percy.jackson @itslukecastellan wheres ur dignity man
itslukecastellan 🤷
whosannabeth IGNORE PERCY THIS IS THE CUTEST THING IVE EVER SEEN
yn_yln i ❤️ my annabeth
itslukecastellan i thought you ❤️ me?
yn_yln know your place pretty boy
rachel.edare coquette bf
yn_yln duh gotta match the aesthetic
hi_imtyson 🎀
yn_yln MISS YOU TYSON
larueclarisse where can i get one of those shirts?
iamchrisrodriguez please dont answer that
yn_yln i'll send you the link 😘
iamchrisrodriguez shit
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liked by whosannabeth, clarisselarue, and others
itslukecastellan she thinks im pretty (ft. this week's flowers)
tagged yn_yln
view comments:
iamchrisrodriguez STOP UR KILLING MY RELATIONSHIP
itslukecastellan just do better chris
yn_yln yeah be like luke (this is the only time you will ever hear this advice from anyone)
larueclarisse hello is want flowers too???!?!??
yn_yln lmao
silenaaaa where do u find one of this kind
yn_yln the pound go for the ones w daddy and mommy issues
itslukecastellan jesus y/n
yn_yln 😊😊
percy.jackson ur ugly
itslukecastellan ur uglier
percy.jackson nuh uh
itslukecastellan yuh huh
percy.jackson nuh uh
itslukecastellan yuh huh
whosannabeth ignore percy. again.
itslukecastellan ive gotten very good at it
larueclarisse REAL
iamchrisrodriguez not real clar he pisses u tf off
larueclarisse 💐???
_groverunderwood those dam bows again
percy.jackson HAHAHAAHA
yn_yln pretty sure thats a laugh of trauma
itslukecastellan quit grover
yn_yln i love you
itslukecastellan is love you more
yn_yln WHERE ARE MY PHOTO CREDS FOR THE SECOND PICTURE??? HMMM???
itslukecastellan this little rat took the second photo
rachel.edare 🐕‍🦺
itslukecastellan i hate you 🙂
yn_yln just posted a story
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view reply from percy.jackson:
percy.jackson im holding this against him forever
yn_yln good pls do
view reply from itslukecastellan:
itslukecastellan youre lucky i love you or else i would not let you expose me like this
yn_yln love you too castellan
view reply from larueclarisse:
larueclarisse IM CRYING
larueclarisse YOU SHOULDVE SEEN THE LOOK ON HIS AND CHRIS'S FACES WHEN THEY SAW THIS
larueclarisse LUKE TURNED EVERY SHADE OF RED AND CHRIS LOOKED LIKE HE MIGHT SHIT A BRICK
yn_yln LMAOOOO
view reply from silenaaaa:
silenaaaa y/n you cant have other campers in our cabin
yn_yln but you love love
silenaaaa fair
silenaaaa wait
silenaaaa wait what kind of love 😏
yn_yln JEEZ NOT THAT KIND
yn_yln just posted a story
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view reply from itslukecastellan:
itslukecastellan im blushingggg
yn_yln good
view reply from iamchrisrodriguez:
iamchrisrodriguez Y/N STOPPPP
yn_yln no
view reply from whosannabeth:
whosannabeth how much do u think i'll have to pay percy to do this?
yn_yln nothing hed do anything for u
whosannabeth oh wait true
627 notes · View notes
marksmelodies · 4 months
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My Princess
idol jaehyun x bratty fem reader
genre: angst, smut, fluff
warnings: suggestive, sex, oral, use of the nickname daddy, mentions of size difference
note: jaehyun and the reader are both ADULTS
minors dni!
you lay in your bed freshly washed, teeth brushed, skincare done, pajamas on and ready to go to bed, putting on your favorite show turning off the lights as you settle down from the exhausting day of shopping with your boyfriends credit card that he gave you to use while he was away
you look over at the cold empty space next to you within in the sheets causing a frown to fall onto your face, your boyfriend was on tour, currently he was at the last stop in tokyo and he wasn’t getting home until late tomorrow night, it’s always the last twenty four hours that go by so incredibly slow
you decide to call jaehyun, as the phone rings and rings eventually you are brought to voicemail, instantly you call him again.. no answer, quickly you find marks contact knowing he’s rooming with your boyfriend, you hit the call button, a few rings in mark answers the phone
“yes y/n?” he says slightly annoyed right off the bat
“where’s jaehyun and why is he not answering the phone” you say in a bratty tone
“he’s in the shower right now, try calling him back when he’s out” mark says in a monotone voice
“no, go tell him to answer me ” you whine
“y/n he’s in the shower” mark repeats himself
“i don’t care tell him to answer me right now” you slightly snap at him
“god i don’t understand how he deals with you, you’re insufferable” mark says before knocking on the shower door
“dude your girlfriends bitching at me to tell you to answer your phone” mark yells through the door
“oh shit, okay thanks bro” jaehyun says turning the water off
you get a call from jaehyun as you instantly hang up the phone on mark
“baby i thought we talked about being nicer to my friends” jaehyun says through the phone
“i wasn’t being mean to him, he was just being stupid, maybe if he did what i asked in the first place he wouldn’t have to deal with me yelling at him” you reply rolling your eyes
mark scoffs
“sweetheart, not everyone is going to give you princess treatment like i do” jaehyun says
“why not” you ask as a genuine question
mark laughs at your complete unawareness of how truly entitled you are as he sits in his bed listening to the conversation
“what did you do today princess” jaehyun asks changing the subject to distract you
“i went shopping with daddies money” you say smiling at him
“oh yeah? should daddy expect a call from the bank for fraud again?” he laughs at the amount of times his card has been temporarily frozen because the bank assumed it got stolen
“no i didn’t do that much damage today, plus the bank is so stupid, how are you going to freeze a card with no limit” you complain
“show me what you got pretty girl”
you begin to give jaehyun a hall of everything that you bought earlier
“didn’t do much damage my ass” mark says still listening to your conversation on the other side of the room
“ jaehyun hes being mean do something” you whine
jaehyun looks over to mark giving him a tight lipped smile before mouthing a “sorry”
“you’re getting cranky baby why don’t you get some rest” jaehyun says knowing how you get when you’re tired
you try to deny it but you feel your eyelids drooping “okay fine, i love you jae” you say
“i love you more princess, sweet dreams” he says waiting for you to hang up the phone because if he hung up you’d immediately call back just so you could be the one to end the phone call… you were truly a brat.
“how do you do it bro.. no offense but she’s actually miserable to be around” mark asks
jaehyun sighs, everyone in his life had asked him this question at least once, including his parents
“i love her man.. id give her the world if she asked for it, it’s my fault she’s such a brat i spoil her too much but i love her and her attitude” jaehyun says
“to each their own i guess” mark says
laying in your king size bed you’ve fallen into a deep sleep
hours later the door beeps in the distance signaling that it has been opened as a tired jaehyun pulls his suitcase through the door frame, taking off his shoes and leaving his belongings in the hallway, he was way to exhausted to unpack it right now, shuffling his feet into your shared bedroom he finds you fast asleep as the tv still plays your favorite show, he chuckles at himself as he reaches for the remote to turn the television off
undressing himself he slips under the covers with nothing but his boxers on, carefully turning himself to the side as he wraps his arm around your stomach pulling you closer to his body
at first you were startled but it only took a second to notice the familiar scent and the strong arm wrapping around you as you turn around to face him
“jaehyun?” you say wrapping your arms around his neck as you place one of your legs around his hip latching onto him like a koala
“hey baby i didn’t mean to wake you” he whispers leaving a kiss to your head
“no im glad you did, i thought you didn’t get home till tomorrow night?” you ask
“plans changed and i wanted to surprise you” he says
you smile at him as you squeeze him harder “i missed you so much jae”
“i missed you too sweet girl”
you unwrap yourself from him at you sit up, you really wish you could control yourself right now but having not seen your boyfriend in a month your body naturally reacted by making your panties soaked
you needed him right here, right now
“jae” you whine laying your entire body onto his kissing his jawline as your hands traced his abs
“babe i’m exhausted” jaehyun sighs patting your butt
“but i need you” you pout your lips at him
he can’t help but smile at your desperation “we can do this in the morning” he says
“but i need you now” you say as a spoiled tone leaves your mouth
on nights like tonight your spoiled nature was greatly unappreciated
jaehyun huffs pulling you off of him “go to bed” he says in an annoyed tone
you fall silent for a moment which slightly concerns jaehyun, you never backed off even when he told you to that’s until he hears slight sniffling coming from your side of the bed
“you don’t love me” you say crying
jaehyun takes a deep breath as you truly try his patience “i do love you sweetheart but im tired, i want to go to sleep”
“you think im ugly don’t you, you don’t like me anymore and you’re not happy with our sex life” you cry harder
“what no- where did that even come from i do not think you’re ugly one bit and i love our sex life, remember how much i proved that to you before i left huh?” he asks as you nod your head yes
he scoots closer to you wiping your tears
“what did i tell you before i left?” he asks
“that i have the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen” you say dead serious
he laughs at your statement “well yeah i did say that and i meant it but what else did i say”
“hm? you said that you promised to pump a whole lot babies into me and get me all pregnant” you say again
jaehyun face palms himself “yes i said that too but i also said that i love you more than anything else in this entire world, and that i’ll love you until the day that i die, remember that?” he asks as you shake your head yes
there wasn’t many times that jaehyun told you no and when he did you always threw a tantrum about it, however jaehyun always came up with a compromise to make you happy
“you can warm me tonight and in the morning i’ll show you how much i’ve missed you beautiful girl” he kisses your lips before letting you get comfortable at he plays with his dick a little to get him hard enough so he could insert himself into you
jaehyun was big.. and your petite body always struggled taking all of him but you were never satisfied until he bottomed out, feeling his tip poke at your heat he softly inserts himself into you causing you to moan and whimper
“you okay baby?” he asks halfway to bottoming out
“mhm” you respond as he keeps going
“ow ow ow” you winced as he gets deeper
he gives you one of his big hands to squeeze as the other one still remains on your hip “ almost there baby you’re doing so well” he whispers interlocking his hand with yours gently rubbing his thumb over it
your tight pussy consuming his cock causing him to use some of his force to push it in deeper causing you to wince in pain again
“i’m sorry baby i know it hurts, daddy is too big for a little thing like you” he says finally bottoming out
you take in a deep breath as your pussy gradually gets used to his size, jaehyun wraps his arm around you as he feels the tiny bulge in your stomach from his cock
“always such a good girl for me huh?” jaehyun says as he kisses the back of your head before falling asleep as you do the same
waking up to the sun shining on your face you look excitedly to your boyfriend remembering what he promised you last night, your smile fell as you noticed the spot next to yours was empty
you quickly get out of bed to see jaehyun sitting on the couch with mark, johnny and haechan
“goodmorning prin-” before jaehyun could even finish his sentence you interrupt him “ what are they doing here” you say pissed off
“there just here to hang out for a little bit, we’re working on a song together so we’re brain storming right now” he explains
“why can’t you do this later” you whine
“here we go again” mark says clearly done with your shit
“i’m sorry but im not the one interrupting a couples alone time am i?” you snap your head to mark
“jaehyun get back in bed” you say
“no princess im doing something right now” he says looking at you
the guys look shocked hearing him tell you no
“but jae you promised me” you cry stomping your feet on the ground
jaehyun takes a deep breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose
“excuse me guys ill be right back, let me take care of her really quick” jaehyun says getting up from the couch grabbing your arm dragging you back into the bedroom before slamming the door
“god you’re such a brat” he says throwing you on the bed as he strips your clothes off along with his own
“you can’t wait a few more hours for my cock? you’re such a needy spoiled brat” usually jaehyun would prep you with his fingers or at least take it slow but not this time
he demanded you getting on all fours as you arched your back without warning he thrust his entire dick into you harshly causing a scream coming from you
“shut your mouth” he says as he balls up the first piece of clothing he sees shoving it into your mouth using it as a gag, he thrusts inside you so rough you feel like you could split in half at any moment, feeling your head fall down into the pillow in front of you jaehyun grabs a handful of your hair yanking you back up
he then flips you over putting your legs over his shoulders taking the gag out of your mouth “you’re gonna be a good girl for me and be quiet” you nod your head yes as he thrusts back into you
you wait for a moment before looking into his eyes purposefully letting out the loudest pornagraphic moan as you smile to yourself knowing that you pissed him off before you do it again
jaehyun puts his hands around your throat as he squeezes not so gently “ you think you’re so funny huh” he shoves the gag back into your mouth as he pulls out of you leaving back to look at your body spread out on the bed
he opens your legs a little wider before slapping your pussy causing you to scream through the material in your mouth. he slaps your pussy again and again getting more rough with each slap
“you’ve been so bratty lately, and i’ve been so kind to you huh, i let you use my money to buy whatever you want, i let you boss me around like your servant, i let you sleep with my cock inside of you last night because you wanted me so bad and this is how you repay me?” he grabs both of your wrists pulling you up out of bed and over to the dresser, “bend over” you do what he says as his hand meets your ass sending a sting to it threw every slap, he repeats this motion on both cheeks until they are raw, you let out a moan as tears run down your face
“look at you, fucking slut enjoys getting punished, is that why you’re so bratty all the time? you like it when daddy punishes you?” he says shoving his cock back into your pussy as you’re still bent over the dresser, his thrusts become faster jaehyun feels himself about to finish as his dick twitches inside of you, letting out a groan warm strings of his seed shoot inside of you
“you don’t get to cum until you prove to me that you can be a good girl” he says pulling out of you before pulling his pants up “and don’t you dare think about touching yourself” he says before waking out of the room leaving you there barely able to see straight
jaehyun was ALWAYS sweet during sex, always obeying your orders, giving you endless compliments as he gently made love to you, sometimes he was a bit rough but he was always so sweet, constantly asking if you are okay or if you’re in pain, he always made sure you came multiple times before he did… but today he showed you a different side to himself and that turned you on
catching your breath you limp to the bathroom, cleaning yourself up you notice blood on the towel that you used
you knew the blood wasn’t from menstruation, jaehyun had definitely slightly tore you or something, you didn’t seem too worried about it since you weren’t in immense pain just a little bit sore
making yourself look somewhat presentable you walk back out to the living room where all the boys sit on the couches
you avoid eye contact knowing they heard every little thing that happened in the bedroom, you try to make your limp not noticeable as you walk over to your boyfriend but that didn’t work out, completely giving up you limp over to jaehyun as you sit in the spot next to him cuddling up to his side
“hey princess, you doing okay” he said as if nothing had happened
you say nothing just nodding your head yes as you play with his fingers while he continues discussing work matters with his members, eventually they leave, now just you and jaehyun on the couch “you were such a good girl” he says kissing your lips as he carries you to the bedroom
“let me make you cum like i promised i would if you behaved” he says pulling down your pants as he’s about to pull down his own
“wait babe i don’t think we should fuck again” you say looking at him
“whys that my sweet girl” he asks raking his hands through your hair as he placed a soft kiss on your lips
“im bleeding a little from last time” you say
“what” he his eyes widen as you try and calm him down
“ it’s okay im not in pain but i think you might have accidentally tore me a little or something” you say softly
“oh my god i’m so sorry, i really didn’t mean to baby, god i’m an idiot i should’ve at least gotten you wet first” he rambles
you chuckle at the sight of him
“baby it’s okay really i’m fine” you say
“i know a way i can make you feel better” jaehyun crawls in between your legs spreading them apart as he takes your pants off, licking a stripe down you pussy making you slightly squirm and pull his hair
he continues to rub your clit as he leans up giving you a kiss on your stomach“you taste so good baby” he says before going back down on you
his tongue moves faster and faster up and down your heat as you feel yourself about to finish you pull his hair a little harder “daddy i’m going to cum” you moan as your body releases onto his tongue causing your body to shake
“good girl princess” he says kissing the inside of your thighs before laying down next to you, you immediately put your head on his chest once you put your pants back on
“i’m sorry, i promise to behave more often and not be as spoiled or bratty” you say into his chest, jaehyun chuckles as he hears your apology
“it’s okay sweetheart, you’re my princess you should be treated like one, i just want you to realize that not everyone is going to spoil you like i do and even then sometimes i can’t always do the things that you want right away or i might be a little too tired but that doesn’t mean i don’t love you, i love you very much, i promise that if i can’t give you what you want at the very moment you want it, i will make it up to you” jaehyun says kissing your lips
“i love you jae”
“i love you more princess”
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ruizpizzaria · 5 months
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FAZGANGG ROLL OUT ( FNAF MOVIE RAMBLES + EASTER EGGS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ) PT 1
MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD ! ! ! !
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ok first off i cant put into text or words about how i fucking insane i am about this movie so uhm ahahaha im not gonna or i might explode my head off and end up looking like cc's foxy's plush. THIS MOVIE WAS THE MOST LOVINGLY LOVING LOVE LETTER TO THE FANBASE AND I COULD NOT BE MORE NUTS ABOUT IT
SO IM GONNA WRITE ABT ALL THE LIL EASTER EGGS I NOTICED DURING MY WATCH OF THE MOVIE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ( many more rewatches to come )
UPDATE : PICS ADDED ! ! !
MATPAT AND CORYXKENSHIN CAMEOS ( NO MARKIPLIER D: )
do i even have to say anything about this??
MATPAT SERVING THEORIES SO HARD HE GOT HIRED AS A WAITRESS
CORY BREAKING ANKLES AS AN UBER DRIVER
the theater went ballistic yeah
SPARKY THE DOG CAMEO / FINALLY CANON LOL
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MAN OH MAN WHATT I DDID NOT EXPECT THIS ONE.
In the movie we get a full glimpse of a disassembled sparky suit in parts in service -> max gets stuffed inside this suit later on or a suit next to sparky
the diner that matpat works at is also called Sparky's ( lol foreshadowing )
this is still pretty unreal to me.
FNAF BOOK LORE PLAYS A BIG PART IN THE STORY
There's a scene towards the end of the movie where Abby is hiding from foxy and runs to hide behind some arcade games -> reference to the sequence where Foxy is chasing Charlie in the silver eyes (lighting is almost one on one too)
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The animatronics realize they're getting manipulated by afton /spring bonnie when Abby shows them the truth through a drawing depicting spring bonnie's true nature -> reference to Carlton showing the dead children that spring bonnie / afton is their enemy through drawing spring bonnie as their killer
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CARL THE CUPCAKE
i just find it kinda funny that the guy eaten alive by cupcake was named carl seeing as how carl was cupcake's fanon name
also he can defy gravity too ig
THE SHIRT CARL ( ONE OF THE GOONS WHO CAME TO TRASH THE PLACE ) IS WEARING HAS A PRINT OF FNAF 6'S DRIVING MINI GAME
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Chica's magic rainbow from FNAF world gets its own branded ice cream parlor chain :
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EVERYTHING ABOUT ABBY HANGING OUT WITH THE FAZGANG.
Spaghetti and Pizza analogy
this one is a bit more obvious but I like how its used as away to illustrate how mike had to choose giving up abby or cc ( i refuse to call him garrett he is either evan or chris. )
Hospitalized Vanessa Theory
Now that Vanessa is hospitalized could she be filling the roles of cc or mike in fnaf 4 ( mainly cuz of hospital hallucinations )-> shes traumatized by the animatronics and could hallucinate back to her days in the hospital ( if she wakes up or if its a dream sequence or something not sure ) ; also could also work since she's afton's daughter
LIVING TOMBSTONE END CREDITS LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
point where i died in the theater and ascended
so yeah yk id say the trap was sprung successfully
I am the most normal about this movie
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https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRxSFpvV/
This unlocked a memory for me. But the amount of fucking effort for me to open my first bank account in college. Because they needed proof of address.
And I'm like "What do you need me to prove my address?"
And they were like "Official mail like a bill or credit card statement."
And I'm like "Okay, but I'm literally 18. I don't get any mail like that. Can I send you the mail I got from the colleges I've applied to?"
And they were like "No. That's like spam mail"
And my dad (whose address I was trying to use) was like "It's my address. I have official mail. Will that work? Here. I'll write a letter."
And they were like "No. It has to be blue or black ink. You used red. Also we need a notary, and we don't have a notary at this location."
It is so fucking DIFFICULT to open a bank account without a home address. I think I was able to get something for my mom's address when the government mailed me an ID or some shit that we needed for college admissions.
But fr. If a homeless person does get a job. Where the hell they gonna put that money? Since most employers will want to put it directly into your bank account. It is the biggest pain in the ass.
-fae
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lovelessrage · 1 month
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Loveless: A Loveless Review
[Plain Text: Loveless: A Loveless Review]
Trigger Warnings For: Discussion of sex, sex negativity, platonormativity, arophobic tropes, and anti-loveless rhetoric
Disclaimer/Disclosure: I couldn’t finish this book. This will factor heavily into the review, as it has to do with how some scenes, details, and the writing quality were just very hard to sit with and continue. I got about 50% through, so I didn’t just skim pages and get back to you on it.
You might guess I don’t think of this book highly if I had to put it down and stop reading. This would be correct. However, I have more in depth thoughts than that. If you like this book and don’t want to read negative things about it, that's fine, but I implore you to read it anyway. A lot of the problems in this book are present in a lot of creations I see and can be a valuable teaching lesson; loveless people aren’t out to ruin your fun because biases got questioned.
Alright. Enough disclaimers. Review under the cut.
The Bingo Card: Surprisingly, Not A Strikeout
People who have been following me for a while may remember I mentioned I went into reading this book with a bingo card in hand: Loveless and Tired Bingo, a sheet made by yours truly. I did not get Bingo with this book! I did, however, fill 17 spaces out of 25; it just didn’t happen to line up, not because the book passed with flying colors. We’ll return to the Bingo Card at the end of this post to see what it looked like. But, letting you know, that’s a rate of 68% of all squares ticked on Loveless and Tired Bingo. Not looking so hot. 
Platonormativity, Envy, and The Loneliness Whirlpool
Let’s start with the meat of the post so nobody has to read it all if they just wanted my representation opinions. Other things like writing will be shuffled down for your convenience.
Edit: Past Scowl is a liar and a fraud and did not have maims glasses on, and misread the bingo card! I did get Bingo. Oops. Point still stands because the data is the same, I just gave this book a sliver more credit than it deserved for not getting one.
If this book had a full course meal, normativity would ironically be a key ingredient in every plate on the menu. Loveless has a platonormativity problem that confronts you from page 1, more realistically before that; the blurb!
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[Text ID: From the marvelous author of Heartstopper comes an exceptional YA novel about discovering that it's okay if you don't have sexual or romantic feelings for anyone... since there are plenty of other ways to find love and connection. /End ID]
I promise not all my complaints will be raving about one sentence, but this kinda encapsulates the entirety of my problem with Loveless: Georgia Warr is not supported in her own novel. Loveless is a deeply insecure book that many can relate to, but, really… does it alleviate that insecurity, or just cover it up? There’s an unspoken “but” to every part of Loveless’ philosophy about aspec people [especially aroaces], where they must have platonic love to make them whole, to “fix” and “redeem” their lacking attractions. This has always bothered me, and it’s not an uncommon opinion in the community, unfortunately.
Aroaces aren’t allowed to simply “be” – they must be more. They must be so platonically invested you forget they’re aroace, because they have all this other type of love to give the world. It’s reflective of a view on a community sourced from hurt and exclusion, of someone trying to rebuild their worth on a new forefront. It doesn’t make it less of what it is, though: it’s a “yes they’re valid, but” statement that serves as the backbone for far too many aspec-focused media. 
Georgia is a deeply unsure character, and there’s nothing wrong with her being this way; she’s a fictional character made to represent a journey of acceptance, not a real person with the ability to inflict harm on other real people. She does reflect the author’s biases in many ways and many points on the same token, though, acting as a mouthpiece. This often comes in Georgia’s insistence her friendships are simply stronger than other relationship types, as well as her reflexive tendencies to judge the friendless.
One of my many, many hurdles in this book had to do with Rooney [someone save her and half the cast from this novel, please], when the group realizes she’s only a socialite, not really a long-term relationship holder, and the entire room devolves into silent judgment. Georgia does not defend her newfound friend, simply noting she thought differently of her. What about Rooney not having many friends changes her outgoing personality? It doesn’t. It’s simply the fact that Rooney being friendless makes her weird, as with many things Rooney is unfairly demonized for in this novel.
The emphasis on friends doesn’t end here, and persists through the entire novel, practically. It is the main focus, when it isn’t talking about Georgia’s disinterests, and her friend circle is very important to her. All of this is fine. What isn’t fine is the expectation and casual enforcement of friendship being all you have, so you must seize it; this book, even though I wouldn’t recommend it, is often given as The Book on being aroace, but I wouldn’t agree [you’re free to tell me I can’t have an opinion on that if I’m not aroace, but at least read on before deciding anything, alright, official hear me out warning]. One, not all aroaces are alloplatonic, and two, this:
Why Is This Book Written Like A Workplace Safety Seminar
It’s a very… cookie-cutter way to be aroace, and cookie cutter aroaces exist in real life! The rep should exist, no doubt, and shouldn’t be taken away from anyone. It’s not my problem per se that the book is semi-stereotypical. What my problem is has to do with something I see a lot.
The book falls into many of the pitfalls of what I’m dubbing “the pamphlet effect”: when a novel, show, etc. continuously needs to halt the plot to remind the audience this character is different, and explains this to you in a way that resembles an educational pamphlet at a pride event. Georgia Barr feels like an example given to explain a concept more than a person, and I feel bad for her because of how little this book engages with her actual character when it shines through. I understand the book is primarily centered on her journey through the spectrum, but very little is given to make Georgia’s experience unique outside of one scene off the top of my head. Her interests, hobbies, and unique feelings only seem to play a role when it comes time to be an author mouthpiece on slutshaming for fun and sport; only one scene, the forced kiss with Jason when rehearsing the play, really blends her life experiences with her aroace experiences.
Georgia feels designed to be an everywoman, and it was very disappointing to say the least. Very little of the book actually feels like I’m with her, or learning about her unique take on being aroace as a theatre fan or young adult figuring things out; it just feels like Georgia [and the reader] are being dragged through the Cliff’s Notes version of what it is to discover being aroace, rather than a look at how a character like this might feel differently than others on a fuller, whole scale. She’s a hole that can fit most shapes into it, which makes her broadly relatable, but not as fun or engaging to read about if you don’t fit precisely in the demographic Georgia is for; even if you do, is there much to engage with beyond “I’m like that too!”? 
This isn’t just a Georgia problem, either, as many, many characters in this book are walking stereotypes or very flat. But, we’ll get into that later [if you want to get into it now, skip to Writing Problems, Oh My!].
The Fingering In The Room: Loveless’ Weird Ideas About Sex
Alright, if you’re sex repulsed and braved the storm to get some insight, this next paragraph is just complete confusion about this book’s sex scenes and talking about some of the details within. If you want to skip that, skip the next paragraph.
Why is everybody fingering each other? Fingering is fine and it feels good, but it is basically the only sexual act this book knows outside of making out with tongue. Someone having sex in Loveless? They better have clipped their nails because at least two are going in. It feels like a point of research that was skipped because it was unimportant, which. Pretty much, yes. But when you’re someone who pays very close attention to sex scenes because you’re of the opinion they can have artistic value, as well as conveying the author’s views on sexuality, I come away with “is fingering what Oseman thinks young adults do?”. Anyways. Something I noticed.
[Okay sex repulsed people, you’re good. No in depth descriptions beyond this point, just the word “sex”.]
I should’ve titled this section “In Defense of Rooney Bach” because oh this poor girl. Oh you are just there to be gawked at.
First off, let’s begin in a good place: this book always has to clarify it isn’t slutshaming its characters, followed by slutshaming its characters. Rooney is, for the uninitiated, very sexually active. Georgia’s envy often leads to a judgemental, close minded view of Rooney that often pins her sex life as “too much” – something many sexually active women get villainized for. It strikes me immediately how Rooney is constantly picked on for her sexuality as a woman in ways no male characters who aren’t asexual either are treated. None of the men she flirts with or spends time with are reprimanded or “held to account” by the book; Rooney alone is breaking the rules. Rooney’s descriptions are often bookended with a disclaimer that she isn’t being called a slut, she’s just like one, which… This is slutshaming. You can’t just say you aren’t doing it to not be doing it.
Rooney is also a victim of a very arophobic trope, and one that is also misogynistic: the Broken Woman. Why is Rooney sexually active? A rough breakup that broke her heart and makes her fear intimacy on account of potentially being wrong again. Sure, sex feels good, but explicit focus is made on the fact she is only not engaging with romance because she tried and it didn’t work. For a few chapters, admittedly I was hoping for a book where an aroace and aroallo can get past some differences and expand each other's worldviews; what I got was Georgia thinking pretty poorly of Rooney through unaddressed envy and sex negativity, and Rooney being made to only like hookups because she’s messed up. Because of course a woman could only enjoy that if she had a negative experience that forced her on the path!
Also, another scene I didn’t like was Georgia and Pip watching Rooney have sex while she is completely unaware of their presence? Jason leaves as soon as he notices, but the two of them watch before Pip makes a comment on how disgusting it is and Georgia agrees. I’m shocked at how little this is brought up as being violating or creepy. 
If it was a better book, I would have expected it to result in some kind of furthered conversation about boundaries; it could've been a place for Georgia to start establishing what she likes and dislikes, starting with Rooney preferably keeping her out of her sex life when she’s able. Instead, this event gets brought up solely for jokes, and for a motivation for Pip to start hating Rooney, despite her insistence it wasn't because of the hookup and she isn’t slutshaming. Always a great sign when that needs to be clarified. This is a PSA for everyone: you should not need to clarify you aren’t trying to slutshame. If you feel the need to do so, you are probably being sex negative. 
This book isn’t very fond of sexually active people, nor is it kind to characters that are. I can understand why being asexual and sex repulsed is representation people would want, but I also think there’s many, many ways to write it without making it an exercise in shame.
Ironically Kinda Arophobic In Some Parts
This is a short section of a thing I noticed, hated, and had as a contributing factor for my ending early: this book loves aphobic tropes. There’s already the trope against aroallos of not needing romance because of being broken into only liking sex, but also the problem with Pip and Rooney.
I’m a lesbian, for clarification, and I’m saying from experience that I hate the archetype of the angry, jealous lesbian. It’s everywhere. It’s in this book. Pip, upon even the idea of being rejected, starts berating and demeaning the girl who turned her down, even if she was only turned down in her head. The book passes it off as a lighthearted, funny story that Pip got so mad at an ex-crush she was suspended for throwing an apple at their head. Why do I bring this up?
Is it not ringing any bells that this is arophobic? That a character so hostile to romantic rejection is treated as a joke? Many, many aros, and queer people in general, have experienced violence for turning down someone. It’s a serious issue for aros and a real fear in rejecting someone. I found it incredibly hard to read and sit through as everybody passes off Pip’s tendencies to do this to the women that reject her as a silly, funny Pip moment and not a major issue for the aspec community. I don’t care if it’s enemies to lovers, because it doesn’t really feel good to read at all. The only tension is built off the back of something I’ve experienced in real life and many others have as well. 
Lovelessness: The Insecurity Unaddressed
This book, despite its title, is obviously about a loving character. Many people might not see this as a problem: first off, loveless doesn’t always mean the same thing, and second, many aroaces express feeling loveless when coming to terms with their identity. Here’s my rebuttal.
One: Georgia fits no definitions of the label. She subscribes to none of the beliefs. She loves her friends actively and sees their relationship as more than romance or sex, as something greater to her.
Second, this is because anti-loveless rhetoric is everywhere and all over this book. Not once is it suggested Georgia could live as loveless, or truly be without love. In the end, she is surrounded by it, simply learning to accept friendship instead. The way her insecurity isn’t met with “you’re complete as you are”, and instead with “you can still be complete if you simply fill the void with friends”, is anti-loveless. Nobody is allowed to be whole on their own without a subplot where their doubts are reinforced or they’re explicitly made to be broken inside.
This is shockingly common, and always sad every time I see it. Many aspects fear being loveless, as if it is a curse or blight they must cleanse. This book is one example out of many, but it doesn’t make it less hurtful when a book that runs against everything your community stands for [self-acceptance and the optionality of love] bears your name regardless. It is a book for people who are afraid of loneliness, and it answers their insecurities with “you’re right. You do need other people. You just need to find a way to still find and have a life partner!”. This is damaging to loveless people, especially those questioning an aplatonic identity.
Again, it’s not unique to Loveless. But, it’s reflective of a broader issue of aplatonics who may be seeking community constantly being presented with “you ARE broken, but friendship can fix you!”, a “solution” many can’t use, and often leads to even more self-hatred.
That’s about it from the aspec side of things. If you got this far, congrats! The rest is opinions on the writing, and the bingo card finale. You can drop off here if that’s all you came for.
Writing Problems, Oh My!
This is veering into heavy personal opinion, so, I will remind you: I don’t usually like YA, but YA can be a very good genre! I do not think this book is a good representation of what good YA looks like.
The writing quality is one of the hardest things to get past, because of a major problem I observed: Oseman is better at comics. This isn’t so much a vilification as a recommendation that it would’ve been much better suited for a different type of media. This kind of “media dysphoria” is present in many of the ways the book operates: many scenes would flow perfectly well in a visual piece. Georgia’s inner monologue has a tendency to jump suddenly into scenes and interrupt the action in a way that would be perfectly natural as a narration bubble put over a drawing of the scene around her. There are entire pages of just… text messages that would be much better suited to a visual medium where you could make these dialogue bits look much more interesting through different shots, or drawing what the background would look like on a screen [The Girl from the Sea does this well, for example]. 
There’s also the fact I cannot place in my mind if I'm too old for this novel. A lot of the jokes boil down to “hah! Sex!” in a way that instantly alienates me from the writing. The jokes can be pretty juvenile and repetitive, and serve to be the equivalent of a comedian saying “eh? Get it? That was a joke.” six times. 
This isn’t to mention the fact many of these characters are complete cardboard. Sorry. Jason does not need to exist. When he appears in a scene, he is ignored or completely leaves it on his own. He really only serves to drive Georgia’s character forward, rather than have one of his own. I found myself forgetting he was present in a scene at all until he spoke again and reminded me of his existence. The book would practically be unchanged if Georgia temporarily dated Pip and Jason was never a factor, plus or minus the Shakespeare Soc plot. 
Many interesting characters suffer from severe Pamphlet Effect syndrome. Most of the girls do. In a better novel, they would be more in depth, but Loveless doesn’t really afford them this luxury. I need to take the girls very far away from this novel, okay. I need someone to write a version of Loveless where they have personalities. There’s crumbs there. Please, someone make a loaf of bread out of it. They deserve it.
Another thing, but minor: the breakneck pacing at some points followed by slow slogs of not a lot happening contributes to the reading issues. You may thing something would be dwelled on, just for it to go flying away into the sunset as 3 more things happen and then one problem lasts for 2 chapters. I found it very hard to catch up with Loveless, while other parts I felt like I was constantly waiting for it to catch up with me instead.
The Final Frontier: The Bingo Card Returns
And without further ado, the Loveless and Tired Bingo Card for Loveless by Alice Oseman! Completed with help from other readers braver than I.
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[Image ID: A bingo card made from a basic template. It has no title, and all the text is black on a white background. Some squares are marked with a blue X, while others are marked with a red scribble. The marked squares are: “Not prioritizing friendship treated as freak behaviour”, “Jab at loveless sex thrown in”, “Something about not being like THOSE people”, “Universal type of love is laid on thick”, “The answer to all your problems is finding some pals”, “Found family ending”, “Platonic-romantic binary”, “Love still treated as universal [free]”, “Friendship is more wholesome or pure”, “Amatonormativity BAD [platonormativity is my bestie]”, “Platonic love being more powerful or sumn”, “You still love your friends though, right?”, “Friendship saves the day”, “Still thinks you need dedicated people to survive”, “Being alone treated as worst thing in the world”, and “Friendships are more stable than partnerships anyways”. The unmarked, blank squares are: “Something about "players" and pickup artists where no commitment is villainized”, “Character fears being loveless and is kinda aplphobic about it”, “Aspec double standards [one is normal, one is weird]”, “You still love your FAMILY, right???”, “QPRs mentioned by no nuance given to their diversity”, “Friendship forced upon a character against their will”, “Comment about some people being inhuman gets brushed past”, and “Simply prioritise your family instead!!” /End ID]
Would I recommend this book? Uh. No! Well. Yes, but not as a good book for aspecs. I’d recommend it solely to read it yourself and form your own opinions. But, no, I would not recommend it to any aspecs I know, especially not loveless ones, aplatonic ones, aroallos, or if they're an aroace looking for support.
Ah, Loveless, how you vexx me. Never again. See you in the next, much shorter post.
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uroboros-if · 1 month
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Fade to Black Macro
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Demo
I have finally turned my fade to black transitions into a somewhat easy to use macro!! :) I am not sure if this has been done before!
Customizable fade times
Built to be compatible with backward and forward buttons (mostly!)
Works across all screen sizes
Note: This is only for SugarCube.
Setup
Copy and paste this Pastebin to your Story JavaScript.
Copy and paste this Pastebin to your Story Stylesheet.
Make a new passage titled exactly as "black_fade". Add the passage tag, "black-fade". Inside, write <div id="black"></div>. Super important! Copy below identically.
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After this, your installment of the macro should be complete!
Usage
In the passages where you will be fading from and where you will be fading to, tag it as "passage-fade". For example, I want to transition from "p1" to "p2" with a black fade. Thus, both p1 and p2 should have the tag.
In the passage where you will be fading from, write <<fadestart>>.
Use the <<link>> macro to link to your destination. Inside the link macro, use <<passagefade "[passage name]" [fade time]>> where [passage name] is the passage you want to go to, and fade time is how long the black fade will be in miliseconds. (1000ms = 1s). However, do NOT put the passage you will be going to in the <> macro itself. See below:
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Here, I want to go to the passage "p2". Do NOT write <<link "Next passage" "p2">><</link>>. Do not provide the destination passage in the link macro itself. The macro <<passagefade>> will handle it for you if you specify the passage name in the first argument.
Once you do all this, you should be able to sit back and happily use it as you please!
Problems?
Make sure you have the passage "black_fade" titled exactly like that.
Also make sure it has <div id="black"></div> and nothing more!
Make sure "black_fade" is tagged with "black-fade".
Make sure you used <<fadestart>> in the passage you are transitioning from.
Make sure you are correctly using the macro <<passagefade>>. You specify time in miliseconds; it should not have "ms" or "s" included in the argument. It should just be the number (e.g. 4000 for 4 seconds).
Make sure the passages you are fading from and to are tagged with "passage-fade".
There may be CSS/HTML that is interfering with the look of the fade!
There may be other JavaScript code interering with the current code.
If you are having problems, please let me take a look at your Stylesheet or let me know what template you are using! However, I highly recommend looking at the playable and downloadable demo.
(This macro is free to use, free to copy for all commercial and non-commercial projects with no additional fees. Credit is appreciated!)
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thebibliosphere · 2 years
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It's been a whole god damn week and I'm going to need the people being absolute fucktrumpets in my inbox over my "fuck Audible post" to simmer the fuck down and stop telling me "I have other options" when I'm already utilizing every option available to me and that it's my own fault for using Amazon.
I have gone wide with global distribution for my titles since day one. I have every global retailer available to me as an indie author listed here and on my website. People still choose Amazon because it is cheap and convenient. Removing Amazon listings won't drive people to the other retailers, it'll just mean I won't get 80% of my sales which I rely on to pay bills and help put food on the table.
Also to the people absolutely jacking off in my inbox over how I should just use Scribd because it's superior to Amazon for authors, I'm going to need you to show your sources, because here's mine:
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ID: A screenshot of my royalty report from Scribd for the month of June 2022. It reports the "sale" of 2 units for a total profit of $1.18. /End ID.
This is a great example of why when authors tell you they can't afford to not sell on Amazon, this is why. If I'd sold 2 copies of that title on Amazon, I'd have made roughly $2.10+ (depends on currency).
Don't get me wrong, I'm still absolutely thrilled people are using paid services like Scribd to access my work. I'd rather you did that than pirate it. And by all means, keep using Scribd if that's what works for you. I'm not here to shame anyone for enjoying things however they can afford to. But don't come onto my post or into my inbox and spout bullshit about how it's "morally superior to Amazon."
Newsflash, there is no ethical consumption under mainstream capitalism. Scribd is not Amazon, and that is to its credit, but that doesn't mean it's "better for authors." It just means it's not Amazon.
Anyway, support indie authors direct where you can, order through a local indie store, ya-da-ya-da.
Fuck I'm tired.
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cringequeenwrites · 2 months
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hi <3 id like to request larry johnson smut. i have this idea of just like laying around being lazy with him, talking about his art, music, maybe even smoking a little. as he’s comfortably rambling with you, he keeps trailing off getting distracted by looking at you. he starts grabbing at your thighs (super obsessed with them) and listing off phrases of adoration about you. just overall super lovey, entranced by you, almost can’t help himself but just being all over you. just some guilty pleasure lazy lovey smut plss 😭😭
Sorry for taking so long I was in art block for a hot minute, long intro,fluff,love making smut >>
•oO* •oO* •oO* •oO* •oO* •oO* •oO* •oO*•oO*•o
The Artist’s muse
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Art credit: @deordah on instagram
You woke up begrudgingly to the buzz on your phone. The rectangular light emitted shadowed your bewildered, but sleepy features as you grasp your phone with your eyes still closed. Once you could lift the weight of your eyelids you could just see a text from your boyfriend.
‘Come to my room, I need your help.’
You muster a groan before slugging off the bed before putting on some more appropriate pjs to where before sliding on some fluffy slippers and exiting your apartment to trudge into his. Times like this you feel grateful that you live in the same complex as your lover.
The elevator shuddered and reeked of cigarettes and mildew finally stopped and you exited. Softly opening is shared apt door to not wake his mom up with the spare key she gave you a couple months back. In her words Larry made too much noise trying to sneak you in himself than you actually coming normally.
You lock the door behind you and shuffle to his bedroom. The deafening silence of your slippers and his music looming vibrations into the thin wall made you feel almost invisible like a ghost. The familiar smell of burning marijuana and incense filled your nose.
You open his door and slide in to close it behind you. He hadn’t notice your presence yet. You spotted his figure behind a canvas atop of his big easily that also blocked the door way. Most likely the cause of him not noticing you come in. His vinyl player playing a more low and somber tone in contrast of the typical metallic death metal.
You scooted to the side, he still doesn’t notice you. But now you see he’s hyper-focused and high painting something. You see the shapes and color of a figure but you can’t tell what it is yet. You see him put down his paint brush with his brows furrowed as he takes another hit from his blunt, reaching for his phone.
‘Hurry up’
‘I’m right next to you dumby.’
You waited for text to deliver, to ping his phone, and to fully read your one sentence before lifting his head up like a barn owl. You see him jump in his stool and almost fall back. “Jesus fuck, sals a bad influence on you, you know that?” You chuckle at his response and move closer, hugging his tall frame as an apology. “What did you need help with larva.” Larva was the nick name you gave him because you grimaced every time you used larr-bear. Larva being way cuter you argued. You boyfriend who had mixed feelings about being compared to a worm, got back to what he wanted to say.
“I need you to pose for me, I wanna paint ya.”
You paused and looked at him, looking in his features to decipher if he was messing with you or not. His eyes stared back at yours with honesty and the white of his eyes a more pink from weed.
He then wrapped his arms around you to pick you up. You wide eyed and flattered at first, now flustered and in the air. “How bout,no..actually hold on.” He muttered before he flopped you on the bed with heist as he rearranges the position of his easel. You were torn with emotion. Flattered that your boyfriend wanted to paint you, but tired because it’s almost two and half in the morning.
You steal the neglected blunt off his nightstand as he fumbled with his pants. Still lit and burning you inhale while just accepting what’s happing. Still half asleep as you stare off into space. “You’re so pretty you know that?” His voice dipping an octave with his brush against the canvas. “I’m tired.” You almost whispered, even talking normally felt like too much work right now. “I mean it, you’re so fucking beautiful.” You say nothing unintentionally,zoned out from sleep deprivation and the slow high as you inhaled the blunt with your lips touching the rolled up paper.
You’re unsure how much time has passed. Your mind brought back to Larry when you no longer hear the brush strokes and music from the player suddenly click off. You observe him turn of the lights, but still seeing his silhouette shuffle toward you. Climbing in the bed quietly, the light of your blunt being the only light emitting from the room.
He sits closer to you,not saying a word, but you can tell what he is doing. You give him the blunt, he cranes his head. you cup his cheek with your free hand and place the joint to his lips with your other hand. You two shared the dwindling blunt until it was just bits of burnt paper. Breathing smoke from his mouth into yours, feeling as if you’re sucking his soul.
“I love you.” He said. His head coming to rest on your shoulder as you put your hands around his neck. “I love you too, don’t ever wake me up this late again.” You hear his sudden chuckle, feeling his dopey smile on your skin. “I’m sorry, just miss you.” He continued. Pulling down your pj pants with your underwear. “You see me everyday.” You entertained him as you pulled his shirt off. “I know.” He huffed. Taking off your shirt he gave you years ago.
“I just want you here, I want your heart.. Your attention, I wanted to hear your voice. I don’t know how to put it. I even miss the smell of your clothes.”
He uttered through whispers. Shuffling his pants off to kick them away. Kissing the shell of your ear down to your neck. Hands on your waist as his legs intertwined with yours.
“I need you.”
He grabbed the lube from that laid on the covers from a couple nights before. Pouring a generous amount on his shaft. You lock his waist between you with your legs. He rubbed his cock between your folds,heat already emitting from the both of you. The squelching sound made by your mixture of slick and lube coating your lips as his tip plays with your sensitive clit. You let out a shuddered whimper from the teasing, earning a chuckle from the man above you. He then inserted the head in, pausing to give you time to adjust before sinking his length in. His thickness was something you never got used to, no matter how many times you two were together. He bottomed out with a huff. Pausing again to give you time to adjust. You ran your hands through his hair to signal him to go. He slowly thrusted but thoroughly pressed into your core when he made contact. Now spouting endless praise and encouragement to you. “You so fucking hot, fuck, your pussy is so good I could fuck you forever. Your noises are so fucking cute too. I love you so much baby you don’t even know.” He sped up to where you could hear the plaps and squelching of your skin together. Inching closer and closer before you were about to climax. “Larry I’m close-“ you could only warn too soon before you felt your legs spasm and shake as you gush around his cock. Hiding your face in the crook of his neck as he chased his high, thrust coming to a sloppy rhythm as he pumped his cum I side you, filling your pussy until it was spilling out as he pulled out.
“We can clean up tomorrow morning.” He exhaled, still lying on top of you as he drew the blanket covers over the two of you. “I love you.” You whispered with soft huffs. “Love you too.” He said, falling asleep with your arms around him.
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Text
Forced Proximity
In honour of the FnaF movie coming out, I wanted to write something. I was inspired by a cosplay video by astrocadet on TikTok and that video's comments section, so credit to them!
When does this happen in the timeline? Who knows. Which pizzeria is the reader working at? Why is Michael called Michael and not one of his (possible) aliases? What year is this happening in? Why does the timeline for this game make no sense? These aren't important questions right now. Also yes, I'm using Michael's in-game sprite for the picture; you can picture him however you want. Hope you like the fanfic!
Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's
Characters: Michael Afton x day shift! gn! Reader
Word count: 2.1k (2,122 words)
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When you realise you left your bag at work, you don't think much of it at first. But when you remember your keys are in said bag, you have no choice but to go back to Freddy Fazbear's. But your co-worker, the night guard is acting strange and when you get stuck in the office together, who knows what will happen?
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"Damn." You rested your head against the steering wheel. Of course you forgot your bag. And of course your house keys were in your bag.
Why you hadn't just put your car keys with your bag instead of in the key bowl at work, you had no idea. If you'd just done what you always do and put all of your stuff together, you wouldn't be sitting outside your house with no way of getting in.
You really needed to stop procrastinating and get that spare key made.
But, for now, there was nothing to do but drive twenty minutes back to Freddy Fazbear's and get your keys.
You turned the car back on and began driving back to your place of occupation. Why were you working at Freddy Fazbear's? After everything you'd read about it in the newspapers, you weren't really sure. The pay wasn't bad, but you knew you could get a better job. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity that held you there. Maybe if you hung around long enough, you'd find out what had happened to all those missing kids.
You'd never been in the pizzeria after hours. You knew there was a night guard but beyond talking a few times at staff meetings and the one Christmas party that had been held, you didn't really know much about him. Michael. You were pretty sure that was his name. He was sort of cute in a "crush on the guy on the bus" kind of way.
The drive passed faster than you thought, your mind filled with thoughts of work and your co-worker. Before you realized it, you were pulling into the parking lot of Freddy Fazbear's. The lights were off inside, and the doors were locked. You knew, you'd locked them yourself before leaving. Of course you had keys for the pizzeria and not your own house.
You locked your car and walked to the door. This place was way creepier at night-time. You'd have to try harder to remember your keys so you could avoid a repeat of this, no matter how cute your co-worker was.
The key turned with a loud clunk. you heard it echo off the concrete walls and linoleum floors. You pushed the door open. The room inside was dark, the only light reflecting off the security cameras in the corners of the room.
Thankfully, you knew your way around the place well enough that you could make your way around in the low lighting. But you could feel the hairs standing up on the back of your neck. Something felt off.
You stepped into the staff room and quickly found your bag where you had left it. You opened it and ran a hand through the contents. You’d be damned if your keys weren’t in there. But no, your keys were exactly where you thought they would be, in the inside pocket next to your staff id.
You closed your bag again and turned to leave. But halfway across the room you heard a loud thud from somewhere in the building. You jumped.
Could it be intruders? What was the security guard doing not patrolling the halls? You stood, locked in place. You knew you should just leave. You weren’t even supposed to be here. And it was already about 1 o’clock and you had the opening shift which started at 6. You were barely going to get 4 hours of sleep if you left right now.
But some strange duty of care made you stop. It wouldn’t hurt to just have a quick look around, or at least check in on the security guard. Maybe he was asleep? You sighed. Who needed sleep anyway?
You made your way through the halls, your shoes squeaking ever so slightly against the plastic lined floors. The noise seemed especially loud in the oppressive silence.
Suddenly a bright light flashed across your eyes from somewhere to your right. You stepped back, trying to shield your face.
“Oh my god, it’s just you.”
You lowered your hand as the light dropped to the floor. After the glare, the room in front of you seemed even darker than it should have. You could barely make out the figure inside, but you knew from the voice that it was your co-worker. Michael.
“Hey,” You tried for a calm greeting but the shake in your voice made it sound anything but, “Sorry, I left my bag here and-”
“Get in here.” You felt Michael grab your arm and pull you into the small security office. You began to protest at the rough treatment, but Michael shushed you before you could say anything. He pressed a button behind you and the door you’d just been pulled through closed with a metallic clank.
Your eyes now adjusted to the dim light, you shot Michael a questioning look. He ignored you, looking at the footage being shown on the television sitting on the table in front of him. Then, he pressed the button again and the door opened.
He leant back in his chair. “Sorry about that. You just needed to…uh…you being in the hallways would have messed with my check in on the rooms. Might have thought you were an intruder or something.”
His excuse seemed feeble and he looked like he knew it. He tried for what you assumed was meant to be a welcoming smile but instead came across as forced. “So, what are you doing here?”
“Like I was saying before I got pulled in here, I left my bag. And my keys. So I had to come back before I could get into my house.”
Michael’s eyes darted towards the screen, then to the clock. You followed his gaze. Already 2am. Time sure was passing quickly tonight. You were starting to give up on the idea of getting any sleep. Maybe you’d just have sleep in your car and then have a nap during your lunch break. You began backing towards the door.
“Well, I should go, let you get back to your work-”
“No! I mean…” Michael cleared his throat, “uh, you can’t leave right now. It’s not safe.”
You raised an eyebrow. “No safe?”
Michael nodded, eyes again darting to the screen.
“And why is it not safe? I made it here didn’t I?”
A pause. Then Michael sighed. “I don’t really know how to explain it without sounding like I’m crazy.”
You were pretty sure that ship had long since sailed. There was no way this guy was fit to be a night security guard. Or at the very least, being alone in this place every night was starting to get to him.
Michael beckoned you forward. You took a tentative step. He pressed the button again and the door closed once more. You were getting more and more concerned. Was this just a set up? Were you going to show up on the news tomorrow, the latest victim of a serial killer who was hiding as the security guard at Freddy Fazbear’s?
But then Michael pointed at the screen, you leant forward, trying to see the room clearly through the grainy footage. It was the hallway on the other side of the door. For a few seconds, there was nothing. Then a figure ran down the hallway. You could hear metal clanging as the figure passed the door, before the noise faded into the distance.
Michael pressed the button and the door opened.
“Why are you opening the door?” Your voice was shriller than you would have liked.
"We can’t use too much power."
"What do you mean we can’t use too much power?"
"This place only has a limited amount of power available each night. I have to be careful how I use it." Michael pointed to the green bar at the bottom of the screen. The words above it read “power remaining: 50%”.
“And what was that thing?” You could feel yourself beginning to shake. Shock was setting in fast that you’d expected.
“Foxy.”
You laughed. You couldn’t help it. “Foxy? You’re telling me that was Foxy? The animatronic from Pirate’s Cove? The one that gets shut down every night before we close up? The one that couldn’t be running down the hall because that’s not in its code?”
Michael nodded.
“Uh huh. And you want me to think you’re not crazy?”
Michael sighed. “It gets worse believe me.”
“Oh really?” You could hear the hysteria creeping into your voice. Because if that really was Foxy, you sure didn’t want to be in this building anymore. “Go on. Tell me how it gets worse.”
“The animatronics are possessed by the ghosts of the missing children.”
Silence.
“So the kids are dead?” You couldn’t believe that was what you were focusing on.
Michael nodded sombrely. You ran a hand over your face. Either this guy really was crazy, or he was telling the truth. No one in their right mind would joke about dead kids like this.
“And I can’t leave?”
Michael shook his head. “Not unless you want one of the animatronics to get you. We used to have more security guards you know.” From the haunted look in his eyes, you guessed he was telling the truth.
You took a shaky breath. “If I find out this was just an elaborate prank, I’m reporting you to management.”
Michael gave a weak smile. “I wish that was the case.”
You glanced at the clock. Just past 2am. Michael followed your gaze. “We only have to make it until 6. Then everything stops.”
“Only four more hours huh?” A question suddenly occurred to you, “Why do you still work here? You do this every night?”
“Let’s just say I have history with this place.” Michael’s expression was tight, “I can’t quit just yet.” You could tell he wouldn't say any more.
"I guess we just have to make it through the night then."
~
The evening passed quickly, Michael focusing on keeping the animatronics out and you trying to keep your fear at bay.
The clock now displayed 5am. But it had only showed the hours, not minutes so you had no idea how close it was to 6am and freedom.
You glanced across to Michael. He seemed more frantic than earlier in the night.
"Sorry, I don't think we're getting through tonight."
Your stomach dropped at his words and your eyes flicked over the power bar: only 1% left.
"We might still make it."
But before Michael could reply, the lights turned off with a loud clunk and the whirring of some machine turning off.
You smothered a scream and felt around until you found Michael's shoulder. You wrapped your arms around him and felt him hug you back.
"I'm sorry." His voice was soft and you could hear it shaking.
You tried to calm your breathing, though it was getting increasingly hard. "You did your best."
A loud clanging noise echoed down the corridor outside.
"Just in case we die, I always thought you were cute."
You could hardly believe it. Now you were getting a confession? Just as you were about to die? "Really?"
"Yeah."
"I've had a crush on you since my first day here."
"Guess we were a little late with figuring out our feelings."
The clanging grew louder until it sounded like it was just outside the door. The percent of power ticked lower.
Michael hugged you closer, pressing his face into the top of your head. "I'm sorry."
Suddenly, a bell chimed, playing Westminster Quarters as the sound of children cheering played over the speakers. You jumped at the sudden noise, clinging closer to Michael, your eyes squeezing shut.
So you were surprised to hear him laugh, short and almost hysterical. "We did it. We did it!"
You opened your eyes cautiously and saw, on the camera monitor in large white letters "6 am", pixilated confetti floating down the screen.
"So we're alive?" You could barely believe it.
Michael nodded, smiling at you. "The animatronics stop after six so we're fine."
You began laughing. "Oh my god, I thought we were going to die." A thought suddenly occurred to you, "Did you really confess to me when you thought we were both about to die?"
Michael winced. "I was almost hoping you'd forget." Then he blinked, "But you said you liked me as well?"
You felt your face heat up. "Yeah, I guess I did..."
"Well I guess there's only one thing to do about that. Can I take you out this weekend? I'll be off and I know you're not working."
You smiled, nodding. "That sounds nice."
But you figured you'd better clarify one thing.
"As long as it's not a pizza date."
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Hey, did you enjoy this? If you like my writing, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi page! This will allow me to make some money off my writing, something I enjoy doing.
ko-fi.com/justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms
Important Note: Please only donate if you are financially able to. If you are currently in a position where you can't donate, a like, comment, or reblog will mean just as much.
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mr2swap · 5 months
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Halloween Special: Hairy Potter 
The sound of Mommy's car horn that they met outside made my father jump who was now dressed in my Superman costume, while I was in the living room of our house playing video games, He made an exception of annoyance and muttered some curses softly that I could hear. He jumped down from the sofa and with his small legs walked towards the kitchen. He stretched out one of his short arms adorned with fake muscles and took the plastic gourd.
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-Just… don't leave the house, okay? there's pizza in the fridge and if you need something just call mom and... better not call- My father was nervous, he brought one of his little hands to his forehead and caressed his pale forehead, it's been a long time since he spent time alone with mom, though now he'll have to spend it as a 10-year-old instead of a 35-year-old professional bodybuilder.
-Everything will be a great daddy! Just…relax- my father sighed once more before trying to leave through the front door, but now he was less than half his size and needed the help of an adult, like me.
I put on the video game and with my long and hairy legs I walked to the door and helped my father open the door, my mother was dressed as Supergirl and she smiled at my father as soon as she saw him out with his adorable superman costume.
-Have fun trick-or-treating and don't eat them all, save some for me!- My powerful deep voice rang throughout the neighborhood as my father walked to my mom's car, as my father got in the car I could see a small smile on his embarrassed face. That was the first time I had seen my father smile since our bodies were switched after I made a wish on that old “Zoltar” machine at the mall.
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I closed the door to the house and began to undress as I walked to my room where I kept my costume for the Halloween party. It was strangely liberating to take off Dad's tight clothes and let my long furry wee-wee sway from side to side. from side to side while jumping up and down with happiness, I know it's wrong to lie to my father about the wish I made, but he would be spanking himself if I told him that my wish was to be able to attend the adult Halloween party.
I wasted no time and began to put on the long socks that I had bought myself with daddy's credit card from the first day we woke up in each other's room and with our bodies swapped, daddy's big hairy feet looked good with Red and gold colors, I looked in the mirror and saw my daddy's furry bare torso adorned with a Gryffindor patterned tie.
I looked around to see that I was utterly alone and made my father's juicy tits dance in front of the mirror -Boom, Boom, Boom- a small laugh escaped from my mouth as I tried to make sound effects with my deep and adult voice.
When I was done with that I took one last look in the mirror and flexed my colossal biceps exposing my daddy's hairy pits. -I sure win the costume contest with my “Hairy Potter” costume-
Now with my full costume, I walk to daddy's room and get his wallet, car keys, and ID, I may not have candy this year but I'm sure now I can order one of those adult drinks that my father forbade me to drink, well he is not here and I am the adult now so I will enjoy Halloween as an adult.
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