#be your most authentic self anon

[ki-yomii]

like i do | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader

➥ word count | 3.2k

➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, standing missionary, finger fucking, thigh riding, established relationship, angst w/ a happy ending, possessive!jk, jealous!jk, mentions of infidelity, trust issues

➥ summary | request - Jk being a jealous husband, angst and smuttttt 🥹💘

➥ notes | for lovely anon. hope you enjoy 💚 un-edited, i'll come back and fix any mistakes later. also poor jimin. i love him but i always seem to make him suffer lol.

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

Eavesdropping.

Whether it was a stray conversation in a shop, or lurking around corners to see what others really thought of you, everyone’s done it at some point.

Now, it’s a habit Jungkook tries not to encourage - much preferring upfront interactions and direct conversations - but that isn’t to say he’s never eavesdropped before.

But the problem with listening in on conversations you’re not supposed to be is you run the risk of hearing something you wish you didn’t.

And while it wasn’t intentional by any means - he respects you too much to spy, even if the urge is there - he learns this lesson the hard way.

The first time it happens, he’s in the kitchen refilling his cup of iced coffee. There’s a squeal of surprise followed by a lighthearted giggle, the sound of shuffling limbs and a low grunt.

Everything in him freezes at the sound of your delight, gut churning.

He always works so damn hard to pull the laughter from the depths of your throat. And it stings that Jimin - his friend, his brother’s attempts are effortless.

It’s something so simple, and yet the effect it’s having on him is undeniable as Jungkook white-knuckles the handle of his mug and grits his teeth.

His jaw nearly cracks in two when he hears the softly murmured greeting, “It’s good to see you, baby.”

And Jungkook knows, okay.

He knows there’s nothing romantic between the two of you.

If anything, you’re too alike. Twin flames of the platonic variety. Not only would it never work out, but you both feel nothing but familial towards one another.

For fuck’s sake, Jimin was there when Jungkook proposed. Was the one to encourage it, in fact. Has been nothing but supportive about your relationship even when others disagreed.

However, knowing something doesn’t dampen the spark of jealousy.

Nor does it soothe the sharp flash of hurt threatening to steal the breath from his lungs.

Jimin has always been affectionate with you, and he’s always a touch too flirtatious. It’s a part of who he is, and it’s one Jungkook would never ask him to dim. Jimin spent far too long hiding, pretending, stifling himself for other’s comfort.

And Jungkook loves him as he is, encourages him to be his beautiful, authentic self no matter what. Expect maybe when it comes to his wife… for reasons he’s unwilling to examine.

All schoolyard flirtations aside, what bothers Jungkook most are the pet names. He can put aside his petty jealousy because he knows its unfounded.

What’s harder is dismissing the use of that little four-letter word: baby. 

It’s supposed to be his way of telling you how much he loves you. Special, intimate. A stand-in for the four-word phrase he whispers into the silk of your skin, tattoos into your heart with his lips.

The realization he’s sharing a part of you he thought all his own sits bitter on the back of his tongue, an acid burn eating through his throat until he can’t find the words.

When you respond in kind with a soft, tender call a piece of him shrivels.

Standing in the kitchen adrift and lovelorn, Jungkook’s left with an empty longing he can’t name and no where to place it.

You weren’t together for more than six months before he proposed, knowing you were the one for him by the second date.

Maybe he moved too fast, was too receptive?

Growing up, he’d always been eager to move onto the next big thing, ready to jump head first. Some said that would come back to bite him in the ass. Was this the day?

Perhaps you regret saying yes so soon. Jungkook knows he’s not like other people. They need time to settle into their feelings like a house settling old wooden bones.

The last thing he wants is to make you feel trapped, suffocated under the weight of all his clingy, needy problems.

So he smothers the discomfort and walks into the living room. He shoots you a smile and inclines his head towards Jimin.

Thoroughly ignores the pulse of pain when he sees how cozy the two of you look cuddled up on the couch, legs tangled together with Bam at your feet.

That should be me.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He can’t lose you.

It’s there he silently vows to be less intense, less attached. Does his best to keep his hands to himself even though he wants to reach across the space between your bodies, and tug you into the cradle of his chest.

Bam picks his head up, cocking his ear to the side when Jungkook winces as Jimin reaches out to tug a lock of your hair, smirking around another purred baby.

Thankfully no one else but the dog notices his moment of weakness or the tension cutting through his shoulders.

Staring at his reflection, Jungkook tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and fiddles with his tie. The three-piece fits like a glove yet he’s never felt more uncomfortable.

He longs for soft cotton and baggy loungewear but tonight is important.

It’s your first year anniversary.

He’s had this night planned out months in advance; pulled all the strings needed to secure a reservation at one of the best five-stars in Gangnam.

You’ve been looking forward to it all week, and your excitement is infectious.

Only Jungkook’s mood sours as soon as he turns the corner to find you on the couch with company, dolled up and radiant. Jimin’s beside you, one leg crossed over the other and swirling a half-empty wine glass.

He says something too low for Jungkook to hear.

“Jimin!” You titter behind your hand, the flash of the jewels on your nails catching the light. “Sto-op! You nasty little freak.”

“What’re you doing here?”

Jungkook doesn’t mean to snap but the inner turmoil spills over before he can shove it down.

Your eyes lose some of their softness, the happiness fizzling from your expression like champagne bubbles. Mouth pinching in at the corners, you narrow your eyes.

A lump grows in his throat.

“What’s got you so pissy, Kook?” you ask.

Jimin clears his throat, averting his gaze to the side as he mindlessly plays with the stem of the glass.

The frosty look Jungkook shoots him withers under your pointed glare. Shoulders sagging, he runs his fingers through his hair, unable to care about how much he’s fucking up the style. 

“Sorry Jimin, I… ahem. Anyway, are you gonna be ready to go soon?”

“Mhm, just let me finish up here,” you trail off, motioning to the last few sips of your own wine. “We’ve still got some time before we have to leave anyway.”

Before Jungkook can respond, Jimin cuts in while twining an arm over your bare shoulders, cheek pressed sweetly to yours, “You can’t rush perfection, Kookie. Isn’t that right, pretty baby?”

It’s no surprise your anniversary ends in disaster; a fight so vicious it has you fleeing with an overnight bag, refusing to look at Jungkook let alone speak to him no matter how much he begs you to stay.

Leaving him alone in an apartment ringing with your absence, terrified this is the beginning of the end and thoroughly convinced he’s the worst fucking husband ever.

It’s been several days of radio silence.

No amount of texting or calling gets you to answer. And it’s starting to get to him, going out of his mind with worry, with guilt. If only he hadn’t said this, that, and the other.

If only you’d stayed.

Now, everywhere he turns, Jungkook’s forced to face the jealousy growning like a weed in his heart. And every day it gets worse; a stone crushing his lungs, a bottomless pit curdling his stomach.

He doesn’t know where you are exactly, but his suspicions are proven correct when he nearly busts down the door to Jimin’s apartment only to have you invite him inside, stony-faced and silent.

The quiet doesn’t last, broken by the awkward clearing of his throat as he avoids your stare.

“What are we even doing?” he asks.

Your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline.

There are bags under your eyes and heavy lines around your mouth. You look like you haven’t slept well. Jungkook’s gut clenches, bile bubbling up the back of his throat.

It’s all my fault.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Kook.”

“Please.” He refuses to acknowledge the plea for what it is. “I can’t - I can’t do this anymore.” His voice breaks, cracks in two, tears stopping up his tongue. “I need to know.”

Your eyes flash with confusion. “Baby?” You step closer, hand outstretched and shoulders relaxing. “What are you talking about?”

His intentions are pure, honest.

But months of simmering anger, of doubting everything about himself (again), of resenting the fact he resents you, resents Jimin at all, bubbles to the surface.

He’s not proud of it, but Jungkook explodes; a match set to gunpowder.

“I’m talking about you and Jimin!”

“Me,” you ask, blinking owlishly, “-- and Jimin?”

Jungkook smiles, sharp and unpleasant. Bitter and disappointed. Grief makes him mean, nasty. “Yeah, you and Jimin. Do you think I’m stupid - were you just gonna keep fucking around behind my back?” 

“Woah, pump the breaks! What the hell are--”

“Don’t even try to deny it.”

His eyes glint like shards of black ice, cool and assessing as he stares at you. Numb to the concern in your gaze, the purse of your lips. He’s slipping - he knows he’s slipping. Can feel the grief stricken rage pressing in at the corners of his mind.

The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, and yet he’s helpless to stop the words pouring from his mouth. “Did you like watching me make a fool of myself?”

You sneer, arms crossed over your chest so hard it looks like it hurts, “You’re doing that all on your own, Jungkook. I think you need to leave.”

“No, no, come on. I want to know. Why did you marry me if you don’t even want me, huh?”

Stalking closer, Jungkook corners you against the counter.

The smooth glide of his body is reminiscent of a large jungle cat, purely predatory. The uncomfortable thrill of it reflects through your gaze, the clench of your thighs.

Dark satisfaction curls low in his belly.

He asks, “Did he fuck you better, make you scream his name?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but you’re being a fucking pig,” you say, shoving his shoulder towards the door. “Now I really think it’s time for you to leave. Come back when you’re not being stupid.”

Strong fingers clamp down around your wrist, and Jungkook tugs you into his chest. His free arm curls around your waist, pinning you to his front. The heat of your body can’t drive away the sudden cold washing over him.

“Let go-”

“No.” He watches as any retort dies on your tongue, your eyes meeting his head on for the first time. Whatever you see hooks in, refusing to let go. “I’m not letting you go.”

Shivering, you try to tug your arm free, “Jungkook, please. You’re starting to scare me.”

In lieu of a response, Jungkook dips his head, and inhales the scent of your hair. Dragging his nose down the length of your neck as the familiar perfume floods his lungs. Soothes the prowling beast caged in his chest.

A rumble of satisfaction vibrates through him into you, your nipples stiffening against him.

Jungkook sighs, “You always smell so good, baby.”

The tension threaded through your frame releases, your edges softening until you rest against him fully. Shivers race down his spine when your breath tickles his ear.

You call to him softly.

He hums, nuzzling into the side of your head, “Mhm?”

“Can you let me go now? Promise I won’t go anywhere.”

Jungkook pulls back to look at you for several long seconds. Unlatching his fingers, he watches as you flex your wrist. Then reaches up to tenderly curl the digits around your throat, transfixed by the sight.

A hook of arousal sinks into his stomach.

Yanks hard when you gasp at the push of his thick thigh against your pussy, your whine when he flexes the muscle. With a soft cry, you sag into his body while your hands fly up to plant themselves on his biceps.

“K-Kook!”

“Mm, that’s it.”

The bubble of emotions boiling under the surface of his skin is at odds with the satisfaction coiling in his belly, the interested twitch of his cock.

Jungkook rolls his thigh and works you along the length of it. The heat of you burns through the cotton of his lounge pants, so warm and soft and wet.

"Don't--" your protest trails off, smothered by your teeth as your eyes flutter in pleasure. "Hn!"

Shit, he wants to bury himself so deep inside you’ll never forget the stretch. Ruin you so good with his cock you won’t dream of anyone else ever again. He’d make you his and his alone.

Fingers tightening around your neck, Jungkook murmurs, “Let me hear you, baby.”

Unsuccessfully trying to ignore how good the friction is, you shake your head in denial. But there’s no hiding how turned on you’re getting, panties sticky and thighs clamping around his.

You’re absolutely soaked, evidenced by the growing dark patch on his leg as he grinds you into a sloppy mess.

“W-We can’t, Jimin’s h-home.”

Mentioning the other man is a mistake, and you know that.

Jungkook sees the realization light up in your eyes seconds after he tenses, rutting up against you harshly. The bulge of his cock digs into the dip of your hip, throbbing in time with the labored heaves of his chest. 

His kneecap catches, the sharp ridge smashing into your swollen clit. Your mouth drops open, and Jungkook slaps a hand over your face before the wail escapes.

He knows he’s being rough, but the tears in your eyes soothe some of the hurt. And honestly, he can’t bring himself to care overmuch, especially when your hips jerk against his.

“Better be quiet. We don’t want Jimin to hear us,” Jungkook snarls, “after all, what would he think if he saw how bad you’re gagging for your husband’s dick?”

Your indignant response is cut off by another muffled whine, his teeth sinking into the corner of your jaw.

A weak spot of yours - Jungkook abuses it to his advantage. Swiping his tongue through the layer of sweat that clings to your skin, the salt bursting across his tongue.

He groans.

“I don’t give a fuck what you or Jimin think.” His breath puffs warm and moist over your ear, voice whiskey rough when Jungkook says, “You married me. You’re mine, baby, and I don’t share.”

Relocating, his hand releases your throat and finds your hips. He slips under the mid-thigh hem of your oversized nightshirt, and snaps the waistband of your panties with a firm tug.

Pulling the fabric free from between your legs, he tucks the ruined fabric into his back pocket as a souvenir. 

“K-Kook,” you say, voice warbling.

He hums, eyes glittering dangerously as his fingers brush over the top of your slit. Your clit jumps beneath the pad of his finger, swollen and throbbing.

When you hiss low between your teeth, he smirks, and bullies the little nub with rough circles until your hips shift from side to side.

“Ah, shit, baby. Can you hear how sloppy your pussy is?”

Jungkook dips his fingers between your folds, playing with your gummy walls as he gathers your slick, teasing the rim of your entrance. The filthy squelches echo out into the otherwise silent apartment.

He preens, chest puffing up with pride, and says, “He can’t make you feel the way I do. Can he?”

Without warning, he slides two fingers deep inside to the third knuckle. Chuckles when you burrow your face into his shoulder, your nails dragging raised lines of heat down his arms as your walls give, fluttering around his thick digits as you adjust to the stretch.

“Mm, you always take me so well, baby.”

You clench at the praise, and Jungkook pumps his fingers in reward, curling up to massage at the spongy patch of your g-spot. You whine, head tossed back and thighs shaking around his hand.

Pain shoots through the base of Jungkook’s spine, and biting back a curse, he reaches down to adjust his cock from where its trapped against you, swollen and leaking.

“Yeah, you’re such a good girl.”

“Please,” you whine before mumbling something else.

Jungkook’s not sure what it is, but figures it’s not all that important when your eyes roll back into your head and your hips twitch.

You start to bear down on his fingers, walls tensing and releasing.

“Gonna cum?” Jungkook nips at your bottom lip, panting into your mouth and sharing breath as his eyes bore into yours. “Fuck! Do it. Wanna feel you cum all over my hand.”

God, you look so good like this; eyes teary and brows crinkled, sweat-slick and mouth slack. A sight he never wants to be without. His sweet girl, his baby, his wife.

“Yeah, that’s it.” His fingers curl and pulse, pet and stretch. “Now open those pretty eyes.”

A hand curls around your jaw, tugs at your chin.

“Look at me,” Jungkook breathes.

Please.

He watches, greedy, as your lashes flutter, the lids weighted down by pleasure. Eventually, you manage to crack them open, and he ruts forward in response. His groan vibrates his lips as they smash into yours in a violent kiss. 

You pull away with a gasp, slick dripping down your shaky knees. “I can’t - hnggg - fuck, Kook!”

“Tell me who you belong to.”

He’s unforgiving in his demands, a cold fire burning in the depths of his eyes. His cock throbs, his hips trembling with restraint as he stops himself from rutting to completion against you.

His heart hammers against his ribs, and his stomach swoops.

The answer will either make or break him.

Anticipation floods the room with tension; hovering in the air like a word about to be spoken.

“Tell me.”

“I -- you, Kook, I’ve always belonged to you,” you say, clenching down around him. “Please.”

Capturing you with his gaze, Jungkook hooks a thumb into the corner of your mouth. All the hurt, all the doubts, all the rage bleed out of him like water tossed over the embers of a campfire.

Leaving behind the single-minded desire to give you what you want. What you deserve. Because you’re his and the only thing he wants to do is take care of you.

Love you like you deserve to be.

Like only he knows how to.

The taste of your skin is sharp and bright when his tongue flicks against yours, and he hisses into the plush of your mouth, “Cum.”

Keening, your pussy throbs once, twice. Your belly contracts. And then you’re gushing wetly, a warm flood of slick soaking the palm of Jungkook’s hand, dripping down to puddle on the kitchen tile. Your walls ripple, muscles spasming as you shake apart in his arms.

Jungkook holds you through it, soothing the aftershocks as you slump into him - a marionette with its strings cut. You’re cotton soft, cloudy. Head lolling on his shoulder when you look up at his profile with hazy eyes.

“Show off,” you slur when you catch the sight of his satisfied smirk, the puff of his chest as he stares at something behind you. “Can’t believe you made me cum all over Jimin’s kitchen floor.”

The sound of a choked-off, slightly hysterical laugh comes from the entryway, “Oh, I can. Just glad to see you guys finally made up. Now I’m gonna go wash my eyes with bleach.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook imagine

[inmyheadimobsessed]

I Don't Play Nice

pairing: riri ✘ black!fem!reader

summary: don't fuck fans. this was your rule. unfortunately though, the development of this rule came only after you'd done just that. and now, you cannot seem to outrun your mistake.

word count: longg <3

contains: singer!reader, obsessed!fan!riri, mean!reader, semi mean!riri, possessive!riri, jealous!riri, ooc riri, tbh riri herself is a warning, toxic dynamics, some darkish themes?, mentions of stalking, smut (18+), dom!reader, sub!riri, bratty!riri, riri is mouthy & very unhinged, oral, choking, knife play (riri loves her knife), light nipple play, mentions of blood, car sex, public sex?, strap!reader, fingering (riri receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, spanking, crying, biting, pain!kink, masturbation, strap sucking (barely), use of drugs (pills), rough sex

tags: @verachii @venusdraco @quintessencewrites @cjariot @widowmakker @blackgcomica @n7cje @dejaonline @shinsousliya @generallysapphic @mbakuetshurisprincess @pinkwright @saintwrld @axailslink @mocha-aya @uhwhatsay @6-noir @cuddl3s4shur1 @chidinma @shuriszn @lppriceisright @sweetalittleselfish-honey @abenomeiiii @marsolgy @prettymrswright @shurisjournal @marsolgy @shurismainbxtch @shurisbbymama @shuriri4life @cafehyunji @yunhofingers @yamsthoughts @iseebeautyinwords @ihearttish @vampzxi @sapphicvqmpires

divider by: @firefly-graphics

note: uhhhh, just stay with me, walk with me!!! see it the way i’m seeing it first!!! the car scene/smut is heavily inspired by ohmami by chase atlantic & maggie lindemann, i've had that song on repeat for weeks just sitting in my ideas. i would suggest listening to it to understand some of the references lol. other songs that inspired this fic: misunderstood - kodie shane, don't fight it - kodie shane, f&mu - kehlani, triggered - chase atlantic, off my head - kodie shane and then ohmami last. also this is dedicated to that anon who was screaming in my askbox for sub!riri for like a month, i saw you fren. i had too much fun writing this even though it killed my brain, i didn't even think i was gon post it fr. but anywhoo, hope y'all enjoy! mwah, mwah!!

Bright neon lights illuminated the stage, your crimson-hued silhouette resembling that of a deity from where you stood, bathing in the crowd’s continuous chant of your name. There were distinguishable cracks in the voices rushing you, throats more than likely sore from the ear-piercing screams bellowing out of them, yet still, they endured, glazed eyes stalking you in sheer adoration. Your audience clung to your every lyric, your every move down to the bounce of your sweaty curls as you pranced around the stage.

You were in your element, entrancing their minds with a power you had yet to grow used to.

In your chest, your heart gained life, its thump a deafening pound resounding in your ears; if the beating were any louder, the microphone clasped in your fist would surely pick it up. But it was yours to hear, just like the sensation of your stomach in your throat was yours to feel — the absence of your mind yours to know.

Calling your love for performing an addiction would be an understatement. You were your most authentic self on stage, every surge of adrenaline dosing the high you were jonesing for. Your confidence blossomed, not as a mirage, but as the most corporeal entity your body could conjure up, differing greatly from your branded media persona of an arrogant, entitled, asshole.

These were titles intended to condemn following the very messy breakup with your now ex-girlfriend, renowned actress Syla Slate. Gorgeous, talented, beloved by all of America; she was their sweetheart, so naturally, she won the public’s favor in the split. But your resilience had been a thing miscounted, and woefully so; you wore your scarlet letters with honor, refusing to clear up rumors surrounding your infidelity.

If there were words to be said, feelings to unpack, you would express them on the stage before the thousands of people holding your word as bond, which happened to be the exact thing you did now.

“London!” You commanded the audience with outstretched arms, your very presence eliciting a thunderous uproar. “I ain't think y'all could get any louder.”

The drove of onlookers read your disbelief as a challenge, shouts climbing the arena walls as the sharp octave punctured your eardrums.

You popped out your in-ears, unable to halt the slow smile stretching across your features. You were proud, proud that they risked the health of their voices just to hear yours. “Well alright, I guess y’all could get louder.”

They chuckled as a collective, making you follow suit, “I got one more song for you lot. That's what y’all be saying over here, right? You lot? Shidd, my southern ass wouldn't know,” They laughed again at your terrible rendition of a British accent. “Anyway, like I was saying, I got one more song, y’all cool with that?”

Just as you expected, shriek after shriek bled into one another, melding to create a boisterous sound that expanded around the O2 Arena, and you let your smile broaden as you secured your microphone back into its stand. “Ooh, y’all sound excited!”

The slowed tempo of your closing track began its waft, filling the speakers, the ears of your admirers, and your system all at once. They recognized the beat within seconds, the bass now competing with their cries.

A little bit of that arrogance you chose not to refute came peeking through as you adjusted your mic stand, “Oh y'all know this one, huh?” And they yelled again, satisfying you.

You shut your eyes, expiring a shaky breath into the grille of the mic in preparation, allowing the music to seize hold of you. Your digits trembled around the mouthpiece, and your rings scraped the surface.

Complicated, I shouldn't ever have to feel this way.

Instinctively, the lyrics vacated your mouth, and instinctively, your sockets began to well. You fought the tears, keeping your lids tight in protest of the tumble they threatened.

But, every time I try to up and walk away,

You come around and start to love me, love me better.

Your emotions and your wet eyes were both the epitome of irony. How many shows had you closed with this very song? Why were the waterworks threatening to spill now?

Complicated, I shouldn't ever have to feel this way

Perhaps they were due to the truth stewing inside you. Tonight wasn't just the last show of your tour, it would be your last live performance for a while. You would be leaving your heart on this stage tonight. A difficult decision made, but a necessary one nonetheless. Perhaps this was your body attempting to accept this fact.

Every time I try to up and walk away,

You make a promise that you'll love me, love me better

Love me, love me better

After a moment, your eyes fluttered open and the tears swelling your orbs rained down, fogging your vision. You loosened your strangle on the mic, only now realizing how tight you held to it. As you gazed at the sea of bodies, you noted their red eyes and damp cheeks. They were screaming your song back at you, your lyrics dragging through the air.

It wasn't uncommon to witness your fans crying at your shows; your music overwhelmed them; their connection to you overwhelmed them, and the vulnerability birthed from this emotional exchange overwhelmed you.

I think I'd rather just be misunderstood,

Found out your love ain't no good.

You took in the masses, scanning their dazed smiles as you continued to sing, and that's when you saw her.

Through the mist in your eyes, she emerged out of nothingness. Clad in lace, sporting that devilish smirk that curdled your blood, wearing those dark irises brewed to the brim with mischief. You could always pick her out in any crowd, which looking back, had been the commencement of your own undoing.

Had me at hello, got me with a kiss, left me in abyss.

She swayed to the music, mouthing the words with those dangerous fucking lips. Lips that could ruin your life with a single utterance, lips that did ruin your life, your relationship.

When you finally let your eyes meet, she bared her white teeth, taunting you in that way she often did. You were seething and she knew it, her swift little wink a testament to her knowledge.

You should turn away, rip your gaze from hers, focus on the tear-stained faces in the audience. You should ignore the abrupt shift in your heart’s thump, how it rattled in rage now at an uncomfortable rate. You shouldn't allow her to get to you just by simply existing.

Don’t want my heart cold, so I took it off of my neck and my wrist.

But, in an arena sculpted to house twenty thousand, a lone Riri Williams faded your performance high just by being.

God she was maddening, and inescapable it seemed, no matter the continent you ventured to. To the rest of the world, it'd look like you were serenading her in a bubble where just the two of you existed, but you both knew better. Your anger was palpable to her alone, something she counted on; you’d played this game of hers long enough to hone certain skills, like how to bury your building fury. Your muscles tensed, your knees locked in place as you returned to choking the mic yet again, sizzling under your elevating temperature.

You sang through your irritation though, spitting your venomous lyrics directly in her face as she watched, amused. She wouldn't ruin this parting performance for you.

Found out it was mostly lust but not love.

You kept your eyes on her for the duration of the song, earning jealous stares from the other girls rallying around her, their own hopes of soliciting your gaze made obvious. They were shoving, and yelling, yanking the barricade aggressively, yet still, all your focus lay on Riri. It's what she hoped for, to ensure chaos, to make it obvious she did not need to vie for your attention, she just… simply had it.

You were strengthening her pride, the last thing you sought to do, but looking away from her proved to be impossible.

Complicated, I shouldn't ever have to feel this way.

But, every time I try to up and walk away,

You come around and start to love me, love me better,

Love me, love me better…

Confetti raining from the heavens emulated her skin's shine, golden and distracting, the showers causing you to rip your stare away from her briefly. When the dust settled, she’d vanished, disappearing like she'd never existed, and you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself with a head shake.

“London, thank you, I love you. I’m gonna miss you!”

With that, the lights dimmed, giving you time to evacuate the stage swiftly and stealthily. Off you went, mind still muddled with the smugness she wore on her features as she gawked at you with feral eyes.

Riri being in town meant trouble, and you wanted no fucking part in whatever she had planned.

•••

After leaving the venue your entire body felt numb and fatigued, so you instructed your driver to take you straight back to your hotel. Typically, your routine concluding a performance would involve saying hello to fans who stayed behind after the show, you'd done it countless times, but not tonight. With Riri on the loose, you couldn't chance running into her anywhere, not in your current state of exhaustion. If she was to meet you this way, you were ashamed to admit that it would take zero effort on her part to coax you into doing whatever she wished.

You weren't too tired to be furious though, allowing the emotion to take precedence over your shame; you intended to use said fury to venture as far away from Riri Williams' deranged ass as you could manage.

The length of your silent car ride was spent with your head propped on the cool window, pondering her being in London. You didn't have to question her why; Riri fought valiantly to be wherever you were, but her how, that remained somewhat of a mystery.

How was it plausible for her to be in Europe right now? Her finals should be consuming the majority of her time, clashing with the schedule for the last leg of your tour. You knew this because you planned this.

For the first fifteen stops, there were no tour buses broken into, no dressing room locks tampered with, your shows remained uninterrupted, and you hadn't had to suffer through your usual internal battle when facing off with your biggest weakness. All was fine until tonight, your final concert.

How convenient, you thought, though you supposed her powers should in no way surprise you anymore. You knew the things Riri was capable of, experienced the fate of her actions.

Which was why you decided a quiet night in your hotel would be your chosen way of decompressing. When you pulled up to where you were staying, you shot your manager a text informing her you would not be attending the after-party thrown in your honor. Parties meant paparazzi and their intrusive questions about your relationship, or rather, the lack thereof. But most annoyingly, parties meant Riri, and her covert ways of always weaseling past security at events she presumed you to be at.

And you would pass on dealing with either scenario tonight.

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open on your floor and you stepped out, trotting swiftly toward your suite with a hot shower in mind, one that would rinse away your stressors.

Upon unlocking the door though, there was an immediate sense of something being off, the instinct an acquired habit after your colossal mistake of intertwining your life with Riri's. Every day since you'd been made to look over your shoulder. You stalked deeper into your room, eyes trailing to your rumpled white comforter pulled back as though someone had lain in your sheets.

Before you left that morning, you'd made your bed, another acquired habit, this one drilled into you by your grandmother growing up, and one you practiced diligently when sleeping in threads that weren't your own.

So naturally, with the sight laid out before you, your mind ran straight to the only person you knew could be responsible. The pillow on the right side of the bed was dented, and one of your silk button-ups from a previous concert sat in a pool on the carpet. You bent over to pick it up, pulling it to your nose for a deep inhale to find that you were indeed correct; the intoxicating aroma of Riri's perfume misted the fabric, forcing an unintentional smirk to crack across your lips. You battled against its appearance and lost, as usual.

She was here, in your room, in your bed, wearing your clothes. And recently too, her floral scent still lingering on your linens serving as proof. Your eyes rolled on command, but you decided to ignore the knowledge you'd just gained, mind still set on that well-earned shower. You figured you could still get to it, if Riri had still been around, her presence would've been made known the moment you stepped through the threshold.

Her absence indicated one thing though; she wanted you to come find her, but you wouldn't play into her hand. You were far too tired, and far too over her games.

You began a leisure strip, stepping out of your leather pants and dressing down to your undergarments before making your way to the bathroom. You stopped short when your toes met the tiled floor, gawking at the scene awaiting your attention.

Scarlet petals floated atop long departed waters, blanketing the bath that had now run cold. They were scattered across the floor as well, and the lasting whiff of outed lavender candles filled the air. A discarded bra hung off the side of the tub, matching panties too, and you sighed, stepping on the torn roses as you walked further into the bathroom. She sure knew how to make herself at home.

When you stood before the sink, your eyes dropped instantly to the counter, glued to the promiscuous polaroids littered across it.

Every last one of Riri, every last one taken in your bed. Your shirt draped her body in some, the golden shade making her skin pop beneath the material, mimicking the confetti from earlier. But she was fully naked in most, bare breasts and nipple jewelry exposed with her perfectly manicured fingers playing in her pretty cunt. You picked them up one by one, examining the images further.

The angles were impressive, you couldn't lie, and you appreciated her effort. Like her position in the picture your thumb grazed now; Riri was bent over, ass high in the air, her dripping folds glistening in the perfect shot.

The more time spent gaping at the photos, the stickier your underwear became, clinging to your own saturated cunt. Riri's effect on you wasn't some unknown thing, you were aware of it, she was damn sure aware of it, and these polaroids displayed below you were her version of a reminder, but you chose to stare anyway, reveling in the building throb at your center.

In the final one, her locs cloaked her shoulders, slightly shielding her nipples from your view. But your focus did not lie there, instead, the hefty-looking purple toy rammed into her tight hole stole your attention. It stretched her wide, the pleasure causing her head to sling backward, and those pretty lips to part, forming the most pitiful little 'o' you'd ever seen.

It was this shot that compelled your hand's betrayal, your shower partially forgotten as you slipped your digits beneath the waistband of your panties. One stroke of your swelling clit had your throat craning, imitating Riri's in the photo, a rugged moan slipping free as you splashed around in your wetness, eyes fluttering in response to the sensation.

Before you could really delve into pleasuring yourself though, you glanced at the mirror, reading the words written on it, words you'd somehow missed upon entry.

You rolled your eyes and freed your damp hands from your pussy, arousal on a mission to flee your body. It was replaced instead, by your previous rush of agitation as you reread her cheeky message.

“Did you miss me?” Scribbled across the glass in ruby-red lipstick, the question enclosed in her literal kisses.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

•••

In an interesting twist of events, you'd found yourself in the hotel bar nursing a rum and coke with your thumb looming over a poorly typed text message, those photos still weighing heavy on your head.

Under steaming streams meant to wash her likeness away, your pussy had a vastly different idea in mind, wrangling your fingers in on the plan against your will as you fucked yourself to the thought of her. You came harder than you had in weeks, though the orgasm did nothing to relax your spinning mind.

That's what the alcohol was for, or, what it was supposed to be for anyway.

You’d wandered downstairs in disgrace, desperately needing to drink your actions away. But rather than the escape you chased after, you were met with only more shame at the bottom of your glass. It was your single drink that prompted the idea of texting Syla. A risky move, and a cliché at that, texting your ex the second a drop of liquor kissed your lips. But, you’d done worse things, quite literally moments before drafting the unsent message you still stared at.

You supposed it was the guilt of your shower excursions truly driving your choice. She deserved an explanation for everything, a proper one, and providing that hadn't been an accessible opportunity over the past few months. She was busy on set, and you were on tour, battling the everlasting presence of the demon at fault for your parting.

Riri Williams.

You'd met her a year and a half ago, when your career was on the climb, and the line of girls willing to do whatever you wanted on the promise of a good fuck and a shot at being your next video vixen was unending. You never delivered on the latter part of that promise, but after experiencing the former, they hadn't the capability to mind much.

It was a routine you developed, sleeping with girls after every show, slutting them out, then sending them on their merry ways immediately after. So when the girl with full lips and sinful eyes caught your attention in a Chicago crowd, you knew immediately she was to be your next conquest.

She was alluring, unsettlingly so as she bopped to your singing with a smirk hanging off her blood-red lips. Danger lurked beneath that smirk, lying wait, and you took notice. It should've been your first sign to steer clear of the menacing beauty, but, you were stubborn by nature, and evidently your own worst enemy. So you stooped on the stage, extended your hand to meet hers, laced your fingers together, and sent the audience into a frenzy when you dedicated your celebratory ode to the soul foretold to doom your life.

Riri was the first of your plethora of playthings able to keep up with your stamina. She was fucking feral, and insatiable, hell-bent on riding your strap off of its harness. You weren't ashamed at the time to admit she was the best you’d ever had, and that was only after one night together.

You hadn't even questioned her appearances at multiple gigs and events afterward; you were way too gone off the sex to notice the sprouting problem. Much like performing, you were developing an addiction to her, and the heat between her thighs. Submerging your tongue deep within her wet walls provided the same jolt of adrenaline you received from being on stage, if not more. Bending her over to demolish her from the back got you higher than the chants from thousands of fans ever would.

When you finally did come up for air long enough to acknowledge your predicament, it had been far too late. You began to pull away, wanting to wean yourself off of the drug that was Riri. But she wasn't going for that.

Where you tried dousing your addiction into a dwindling flame, Riri's obsession flourished like a forest fire.

Denying her access to yourself was possibly the worst decision you could have ever made. It didn't stop her from finding your studio, damaging your car engine and conveniently being nearby to help fix it, she even went as far as getting jobs at the venues you played just so she could see you, only to quit directly after your set.

Her ways of maneuvering were mind-boggling, frustrating you to your very core because no matter the effort you poured into it, leaving Riri alone was a task you found to be formidable. She'd show up, and you'd give in. Every. Single. Time.

All of that came to a crashing halt when she obtained your home address, deciding to break in as some grand romantic gesture to “win you back.” You didn't read it that way, obviously, and you branded her a lunatic who had no part in your life. You fucked her like she was nothing and sent her packing, threatening a restraining order if she didn't leave you alone from then on.

Dating Syla forced you to make good on that threat. Your relationship was fairly new at the time, but you liked her enough to want to keep Riri miles and miles away from her. You were at a place of contentment in your career, the need to collect a harem of women washed from your system after the nightmare of your last encounter, and peace seemed like an obtainable thing, or at least some semblance of it, with Riri gone for good.

It's what she allowed you to believe anyway, until she'd apparently had enough of watching you be happy with a woman who wasn't her.

You'd received a text composed of the same words signed across the mirror upstairs.

Did you miss me?

And it wasn't much longer before Syla was on the line, screaming obscenities at you through the phone.

“Lying bitch.”

“Cheating ass hoe.”

“Fucking slut.”

“We're Done.”

She hung up without letting you get a word of defense in, leaving you more so angry than heartbroken. Because it was undeniable that the cause of Syla's unrest and the text on your screen somehow coincided. A truth confirmed when your phone started dinging off the hook.

Riri liked to take flicks.

“To commemorate the moment.” She'd say, and it had already been discovered that telling her no wasn't a thing you could do, so you always let her pull the camera out, far too turned on by the idea of your own personal collection of home movies with Riri in your phone.

In hindsight, you should've guessed they'd come back to bite you in the ass eventually, despite Riri's accomplished skill to manipulate. How she'd managed to convince you the tapes existed in your phone alone was embarrassingly beyond you.

Because there they all were, coming through one by one as you sat on the edge of your bed, dumbfounded.

Syla had forwarded every piece of incriminating evidence that backed up her accusations to you. There were dozens of photos, dozens of videos, all of you and Riri over the year she spent in and out of your sheets. None of them recent, but that ceased to matter. Your girlfriend had seen images of your strap down Riri's throat, watched videos of her back arching impressively for you. And your words; her ears were exposed to the vulgar phrases you hissed as you fucked Riri senseless, phrases you'd never once mouthed to her in the bedroom.

Which was why your conscience scolded you so, because the hurt dampening her words that day was unmistakable for anything else. Yet, you ignored that fact in the shower, huffing Riri's name as you permitted a climax brought on by her image to rattle your bones.

You sighed, finally hitting send on the message just as the bartender approached you, “Oof, you look like you could use another one of those. My shift ends soon, but I could make you another if you'd like.”

Her name tag read Esperanza. Pretty, you thought, a pretty name for a pretty girl. Almost pretty enough to tempt a yes out of you, “Could you ask me again, preferably in an accent that isn't as attractive as yours so I can say no? Because I really, really wanna say no.”

She laughed when you groaned in frustration, rewarding you with a blinding smile that unexpectedly heated your cheeks, “I mean I could, my Swedish accent is pretty terrible, that might work. But I won't, seeing as it's in the job description to seduce guests into buying more alcohol with my voice.”

“Is it?” You questioned with a small smirk.

“Yeah. Especially the pretty American ones like yourself.”

You opened your mouth, fully prepared to retort with something equally as flirtatious, but then your phone buzzed in your palm, capturing your attention as your eyes fell to the device in hopes of seeing Syla's name lighting the screen, only to be met with disappointment.

You wanna fuck that bitch or something?

The number unknown, but the sender was far from.

“Would you excuse me?” You spoke finally and Esperanza nodded, returning to her business of cleaning the counter down.

You stood up from the stool with darting eyes, scanning the bar for any signs of her presence but to no avail. When your phone rang, you answered it without a second thought.

“Where are you?”

Soon, Riri’s permanently teasing voice chimed in your ears, “Hi baby, you miss me?”

She giggled, and you imagined her somewhere twirling her hair around her finger, smiling innocently to herself.

You huffed into the mic, already beyond irritated with her antics, “Riri, where are you?”

“Ugh, baby, why you always so hostile?”

“I told you to stop fucking calling me that.”

“Don't be mean to me. I'm sensitive, baby.” You could hear the frown in her voice, the way her tone took a dive indicating she'd been truly hurt by your words, which only annoyed you more.

“No, you're fucking crazy.” She paused, just like you'd anticipated, and you listened for her intake of breath, smirking when the faint sound of her gasp blessed you. You knew her eye twitched like it always did, you just wished you had the pleasure of witnessing it for yourself.

“I don't like that word.” Her declaration blew through the speaker cold as ice.

You dragged your hand over your face, losing the patience you barely had to begin with. “Riri, what do you want?”

“Did you see my pictures, baby?” Just like that, she did away with the chill lacing her voice, returning it to its usual chipper pitch. “Did you like them? I figured you'd need something to… relax you after your big performance. You did so well by the way, I’m proud of you.”

The thrill that shot through you from her praise would have to go ignored, because you weren't trying to deal with any of your conflicting emotions for the psychotic girl on the other end of the call. “What do you want from me?”

“You and Esperanza looked cozy flirting at the bar. Can't say I wasn't jealous, you never talk to me like that. But if you like her, I could help get y’all together, give you a helping hand and shit. Now that you single.” She giggled slightly after finishing her last sentence.

You turned, eyeing the bar once again. It was mostly empty, save for the three girls in a corner booth, the security guard posted at the door, and yourself. Esperanza had left it seemed, clocking out like she promised, leaving you alone with the ghost of Riri on your line.

You rolled your eyes, remembering how you still suffered the ramifications from the last time she felt inclined to offer a helping hand, “Your crazy ass blew up my fucking relationship and you think I want your help?”

She remained silent for a lengthy amount of time, almost tricking you into believing the line went dead. It wasn't until you were lowering the phone from your ear that she cleared her throat, and you braced yourself for impact. “She could never satisfy you and you fucking know it. You ain't even like her for real, you just wanted a new bitch laid up under you after I stopped giving you access to this pussy baby.”

If the word delusional existed as a person, her name would be Riri Williams.

“You're fucking insane do you know that? Like something is genuinely wrong with you if you think–”

Riri cut you off, “Let's not forget I wasn't alone in our little movies baby. You can't blame your fuck ass relationship failing all on me, because if I remember correctly, you was the one holding the camera while you was blowing my shit, wasn't you?”

Your throat dried, your vision reddened, and your phone shook inside your fist. You couldn't speak because there were no words to be said. “Ri–”

“You know what? I change my mind, I won't help you with Esperanza after all. I like having you to myself anyway. You still want me, and with ole girl out the picture, we can go back to how we used to be.”

“Tell me where the fuck you are Riri.” There was a thud on her end, one that you also heard inside the bar. She was definitely somewhere close.

She tsked, “Nuh-uh baby, you gotta come find me. I got a surprise for you.”

And she hung up the phone, the beep forcing an exasperated sigh from your lips as you stood hopeless in the middle of the bar.

•••

For as long as you’d known Riri, she'd always been obsessed with the never-ending game of hide and seek she trapped you in, forcing the role of being it on you every time. She wanted you scouring the hotel for her while she waited, sitting pretty in whatever cranny she'd made herself comfortable in. She wanted you to do what you always did when you inevitably smoked her out of hiding: punish her for her bad behavior.

Fuck what she wanted.

You wouldn't give in, not this time, and what better way to ensure this case than leaving the hotel entirely? It was late, the night breeze dry as the valet pulled your brand new Ferrari GTC4Lusso around the front, the street lights reflecting off its bold cherry tint. A destination was the furthest thing from your mind when you climbed inside the car, but truthfully, you didn't require one. Driving was merely a ploy to put some distance between you and Riri.

The car’s rumble when you pulled off wasn't one loud enough to drown out your screaming thoughts, much to your dismay. You’d hoped, at the very least, that the revving engine, and the openness of the endless motorway you were now zipping down recklessly, would be enough to dampen your anger. But alas, vexation was an ever-present emotion whenever you found yourself in proximity to her, or rather, when she forced proximity between the pair of you, and it didn't emerge for the reasons you wished it did.

Your adrenaline was rocketing, heart rate spiking in tandem with the numbers on the dash as your toes pushed into the pedal, but despite all this, your sour mood remained. Because you could not discredit Riri's infuriating claim; you wanted her still. You'd endured months without her, abiding by the useless lies that failed to convince you otherwise. That lust for her taste lingered, that lust for her feel, all of it.

Lust that Syla could never satiate, and you often got the sense she wasn't heedless to that truth.

“Fuck!” You cursed aloud, eyes flickering to your dinging phone screen colored in her text messages.

You almost reached for the device resting in the mount, crippling guilt once again driving your decision-making. But you reminded yourself you were behind the wheel, just as an identifiable sensation against your bobbing larynx sent a chilling shiver down your spine, and molded you still in your seat. Briefly, cautiously, you allowed your eyes to leave the road, causing the car to swerve unintentionally into another lane when your gaze became acquainted with the object pinning you down. Beautiful, black, and blinding; the razor-edged blade tacked to your flesh was accompanied by the sweetest pain, and a deeply sultry voice. “We don't text and drive, baby. Leave the bitch on delivered.”

When she spoke, it irritatingly settled your breathing, but not enough to assist you in regaining control of the steering wheel clutched in your fists. There were other cars on the road honking at your continued shifting, but what could you really do when there was an insane girl holding a knife to your throat as you drove? “Riri...”

“I told you to come find me and you didn't.” She spat harshly. Just your fucking luck, she was upset.

“Riri, Ima crash this fucking car if you don't move that shit from my throat.”

She ignored you of course, opting to press the knife in harder. If it were her goal, she could break through skin, the choking pressure indicative of the power she wielded, and in any other circumstance you'd probably be enjoying her lethal way of incapacitating you. “Why didn't you come find me? I was waiting for you.”

“I'm not finna play this game with your psychotic ass tonight Riri. I said fucking move that shit.”

Once again, your cry fell on deaf ears. She kept her hand looped around the driver's seat, knife firm in her fingers as she tightened her grip on the decorative, golden handle.

You listened to her airy exhale, flinched beneath its warmth when it plowed into your expecting cheek, and it was then that you allowed your glare to capture hers in the rearview mirror. Her lips, pouty and red-stained, twitched at the corners, morphing into a foreboding smirk that traveled straight up to her smoky eyes. Eyes that were deep, eyes that were dark, and exceedingly dangerous; like a void you were destined to forever fall victim to.

Riri launched her body forward, nibbling on your bare earlobe. “You're being mean again baby. Real mean for somebody with a knife pressed to they throat right now.”

The sting from the blade began to heighten, building into a burn so glorious, it shot through your limbs, and you found yourself inadvertently tilting your head backward to relish in the hurt.

“I could slit your fucking throat right now and you wouldn't even be quick enough to stop me.”

Words of your own were difficult to come by, you were entirely consumed with combatting the violent throb increasing in your pants, all amidst your efforts to keep you both alive in the drifting Ferrari, but it seemed your soul was the only one inside the car yearning to live another day. “Ri–”

“Just kidding!” The dagger levitated, undoing its imprint in your flesh, and you coughed, one hand instantly flying up to your bruised throat while the other remained on the wheel, regaining full control of the vehicle.

She planted a long, sloppy kiss on your cheek before climbing over into the passenger seat, giggling all the while.

“Jesus fucking Christ Riri, what the actual fuck?!” You spared her a glance, of course she was grinning.

“Were you scared for your life, baby?” She giggled again, biting her lip as she tried reaching for your phone, but you smacked her hand away before she could get to it. “Rude!”

You sighed, “How the hell did you get in here, Riri?”

“Mmm, semantics.” She huffed, seemingly bored.

You relaxed, eyes fixed back on the road now that you were somewhat confident Riri wouldn't be slicing you open. Your muscles loosened and you fell into a leisure position, tossing an irritated scowl her way. “What are you doing in London? You should be at school. Don't you have finals and shit?”

“Aww, look at you all concerned about my studies. You're so cute, baby.” You tried your hardest not to cringe at the pet name and the heat it churned inside your abdomen. “But, obviously I had to see you. You all single now, your tour just ended, and you announced that hiatus, I didn't know when I'd get the chance again. Aren't you happy I'm here?”

“Not at all.”

She frowned, “That's not funny.”

“I wasn't tryna be fucking funny, you shouldn't be here.”

You hadn't needed to see her face to know a smirk played in her features. “You didn't think that lil restraining order was gon stretch all the way across the pond did you? They don't got jurisdiction over me out here baby. I can be as close to you as I want.”

You groaned inwardly, unaware of who you were truly annoyed with; Riri and her actions, or yourself for being so damn turned on listening to her insane logic. She was correct, because you knew that her stunt with Syla wasn't a one-off, and you'd eventually be seeing her again.

Riri was immensely smart, so it made sense that she waited until you were no longer on American soil to corner you, and making you think you'd finally escaped her by being in Europe had to certainly be part of her plan as well. Fuck, why was her conniving nature so damn sexy?

“How did you get in my car?” You asked again.

“I'm not that big, and you should know by now that I'm very…” Riri paused, deliberating on the word she wished to use. “Efficient, when it comes to getting into places I probably shouldn't be in.”

“Yeah, cause you're crazy.”

You could see Riri's body turning towards you in your peripheral, she bent her knees in the seat, eyes locked on your form as she skillfully maneuvered her knife in between her digits. “You like your tongue, baby?”

“What?”

She sneered, “Your tongue. Do you like it?”

“The fuck are–”

“Cause I like your tongue. When it's inside me, when it's rolling over my clit. Yeah, I actually kinda love your tongue, and I really, really want you to keep it.” She surged forward with a quickness, almost diving the point of her ebony dagger through your jugular. “So Ima suggest you stop fucking calling me that shit, I'd hate to have to cut it out.”

All you could do was roll your eyes. “Dramatic ass.”

“And you love it.” She plopped back into the seat with a satisfied smile, extending her legs so they now rested in your lap, to which you did not protest.

Riri giggled, reaching into the bosom of her dress to retrieve a small, clear baggie harboring those circular blue pills that she loved so much. Her wet tongue awaited the tablet's arrival, extending out of her mouth in preparation for its landing. And you turned, one hand on the wheel as you watched a gradual cerulean bleed cover her tastebuds. “Want one?”

“No.” All your attention shifted back to the road and your lack of destination. You'd left the hotel to get away from Riri, yet here you were, essentially taking a fucking joyride with her after she broke into your brand-new car.

“Ugh, lame.” She stashed the pills back inside her titties, once again reaching for your phone, and this time you didn't stop her. “Can I put my song on?”

Your brow quirked, “Your song?”

Riri nodded, “Yes, my song. The song you wrote for me!”

“You think I give enough of a fuck about your deranged ass to write a song about you?” You did, write a song about her that was, a couple in fact. All of them about your reprehensible escapades with the groupie who wouldn't leave you alone, the groupie who you couldn't leave alone.

Your entanglement with Riri had managed to bypass public perception, the only thing you executed correctly when it came to her, so her name had never been in the running when the speculations of who your last album could've been about arose. You knew she'd figure it out though, because of course she would.

She kicked your thigh, causing you to smack her ankle in retaliation. “You do. I'm your muse.”

You bellowed a hearty, sarcastic laugh. "My muse? Oh, you're very unwell, Riri." She pointed the blade your way as a warning, causing you to grin triumphantly. "And which song you think I wrote about you?”

“Don't play dumb baby, you can't pull that shit off.” Riri placed your phone back into its holder, her lips curling into a bashful smile when your voice drifted from the speakers, and her song coasted the car's air.

We done played all these games,

Only now I can't wait, I want you now, I can't wait, oh yeah.

The track she chose had indeed been one she inspired. It was also one you avoided entirely, purposefully leaving it off the set list for all of your shows. But again, here you were, subjected to listening to Riri's painfully off-key rendition of the lyrics that symbolized the relationship you two shared.

But she just wanna off my head, I just want the neck instead.

She just wanna fight in bed, I wanna get high instead, oh yeah.

“You think this is about you?” You teased, only seeking to rile her up. “This could be about any of the other girls I done fucked.”

“You know I can't leavе you alone? You know I could never tell you no? Hmm, definitely sound like this is about me. Cause I know you wasn't running back to none of them other hoes like you was running back to me, let's be for real.” She continued to sing, spreading her legs in the process.

It was muscle memory that had your hand descending to her ankle perched in your lap, making you squeeze it before you began to massage it in the way only you knew she liked. And the smile that you failed to disguise when she whimpered was one of instinct, not intention.

“How many girls have you f-fucked on tour, baby?” The question straggled out of her mouth behind a breathy moan.

You hadn't wanted to award her inquiry with any sort of answer, largely in part due to the answer being one that would please her, so you elected to lie.

“A few.” You retorted with a sanguine smirk you deemed sharper than the blade she flaunted, but when your gaze panned her way, the sight awaiting you dulled your smile into a flaccid frown.

She was bunching her dress, thumbing the fabric of her underwear once the hem circled her waist. “Mmm, that's a l-lie.”

Riri made you weak, downright helpless and impotent whenever her authentic huffs of pleasure gained volume. So it wasn't the least bit surprising when her whines from beside you nabbed your attention from the freeway, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything apart from the wet sounds emitted by her dripping center.

Your eyes drifted, and you stifled a moan of your own when you realized she'd graduated from touching herself with her fingers. Riri had the blade locked in her fist, dragging the handle up, down, and around her throbbing clit above her panties.

“Riri, what are you doing?” You bit your lip, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.

She slipped her sticky panties to the side, finally bridging the gap keeping the hilt of the knife apart from her eager cunt. “If you was fucking bitches I would know. Sticking to your rule I see.” You watched the tip of the handle orbit her hole, just before it slowly sank in, getting swallowed by her grip all the way up to the bolster. “F-Fuck baby, I guess this p-pussy really changed your life, huh?”

“I don't want your fucking pussy juice all over my seat. This car is new.” Your scolding tone was feigned, only in an attempt to express a fragment of restraint, but truthfully, every ounce of it slipped swiftly away from you the second you bore witness to that molly hitting her tongue.

You weren't even sure if you were driving on the right side of the road, far too fixated on keeping your composure as your fibers mastered the art of persuasion. They insisted you pull over and allow your fingers to replace the knife, have your tongue relieve the shiny gold hook of its lewd duty of fucking Riri's cunt.

She was thrashing, pumping the back end of the blade in and out, in and out as her squishy pussy sang to you. “Am I the f-first g-girl you let r-ride in your new 'Rari, baby? Ooh, I feel so special.”

“I'm not letting you, your crazy ass broke in. And I mean it, close your damn legs.”

You did the only thing you could think of to get her to stop: you pushed the pedal to the floor, the speed sucking you into the seat as the car surged forward. But beside you, Riri remained a moaning, giggling mess. It was like your accelerated driving, and your admonishments motivated her to fuck her cunt faster as she slicked the knife, making herself wetter. “Hear h-how wet this pussy is for you b-baby? You haven't even t-touched me and I'm fucking drenched. Oh, oh! Shit!”

“Do not fucking come on my seat Riri.”

“Or what? You gonna p-punish me?” She used her free hand to rub coaxing circles into her twitching clit, biting down on her lip as the tool dove deeper into her stretched hole, prodding her sensitive spot just right. “Fuck! It f-feels so good! I'm close!"

You took your eyes off the road, watching her lids droop from the pleasure building deep within, tuning in to the cry clamoring from her tightening stomach.

“Don't.” But you knew she would.

“I can't baby. I-I… Oh fuck!” She groaned, long and breathy, her back arching inward, chest bouncing rapidly from the build-up. Riri screeched the second her orgasm knocked her down, and it was the sexiest sound you'd ever heard. Droves of bliss pillaged her frail body, and she shook violently next to you. “I'm s-sorry... I-I c-couldn't.”

“It's okay.” You were soothing her as she declined from her climax.

The handle glided out of her used pussy, dragging out strings of her oozing cum with it, and the hilt glistened brighter than it did before her hole consumed it. Your quick glances from the knife to the road, from the road to Riri’s seeping cunt weren't enough, you needed to taste her, and it was apparent that she read your mind. “Wanna taste?”

You tried for reluctance, at least your brain did, your body not so much. A steady nod was your only offer, eyes never leaving the road ahead, and you could sense Riri’s grin after receiving your answer. She was excited, pleased, surprised that you gave into her off the first ask, usually she'd have to work harder to earn your compliance. She was on her knees seconds later, left hand propping her up on the center armrest while her right carried the glimmering dagger to your mouth.

She smeared the tip across your full lips, her slickness coating them like gloss, and out came your tongue, drinking in her juices like a parched animal. As always, Riri's cum tasted fucking fantastic, but you refused to give her the satisfaction of moaning. “You like?”

You remained silent, and she smirked, “You love.” She beamed, tapping your mouth, “Open wide baby.”

She was taunting you, this you knew. You were also aware that you were on the verge of doing exactly as she requested without a lick of shame, and you glared at her, unimpressed.

“Please? For me?” She whined.

You couldn't resist her pout, you couldn't resist her, not anymore. So immediately, you promptly parted your lips, offering the stem of the dagger a seat on your watering tongue, your saliva mingling with Riri's sweet, sweet nectar.

This time you did moan, and loud too, fueling her fire just like she wanted, just like you always did. You twirled your tongue around it, sucking and licking every last drop of her creamy cum off the knife handle.

“Backseat. Now.” The only words out of your mouth when she pulled the hilt free, and she clapped, climbing over you as you smacked her ass before pulling the car over on the side of the highway.

•••

“Bend over.” You tried tearing your lips from hers as you spoke, but Riri snagged your bottom lip between her teeth, biting fiercely while her cunt brushed your lap. She kept her eyes on yours, smirking, wanting you to behold the peril swallowing her pupils when she slipped the point of her blackened blade between the buttons of your shirt. She dragged it down, the sharp knife popping each one clean off until your top flew open under her swift slicing.

Your own eyes twinkled encouragingly; you were far too into this; you always enjoyed those seldom moments when you permitted Riri's belief that she held the upper hand.

The tip of her pointed dagger grazed the valley of your unbound breasts, their exposure earning her marvel as she used the bountiful view to aid her desperate humps against your thigh. And you could hear her pussy, you could feel the sticky puddle created by streaks of her first climax seeping through her thin underwear. Her moans were so broken and docile, it almost seemed criminal to make her stop, but you needed her splayed across you.

“You gon make me say it again, mami? You know how I like you.”

With fogged-out eyes, she nodded, stealing one more kiss and shoving the knife into your palm before stretching her small body across the extended center column. Her plump ass elevated to eye level, and you sat back to enjoy the view presented to you.

Lace complimented her skin's deepness far too well. The material embraced her curves, molding to her hips like a second skin, and you nearly let guilt get the better of you for the actions that followed. Your movement was one of speedy precision as you slashed through the bottom half of Riri's dress with the blade she awarded to you, making her gasp.

“This good baby? This how you wanted me?” She backed up a little, seeking some sort of comfort and it clicked then, that this position must be an awkward one for her with the armrest slanting her, and jabbing right into her abdomen.

You bit your swollen lip, moaning from the sweet pain left behind by Riri’s incisors. “Mhmm,” The blade's handle trailed her sticky crotch, “Just like this mami.”

In seconds, you were cutting her cunt free from her messy underwear, kneading and jiggling her exposed ass cheeks in your hot hands. But your pace wasn't up to her liking, and Riri never shied away from voicing her opinion. “You moving too fucking slow. If you gon hi–”

Before her complaint could force its end out of her mouth your palm collided with the meat of her ass, hitting her with unruly force. Her body jerked on top of you, and she yelped, the fragile screech music to your ears. “What you was saying, mami?”

Riri groaned under the rush of pain, then exhaled, and you took this as your opportunity to slap her behind again.

As you ran your hand along her bare skin, you absorbed the heat drummed up from your two hits alone, chuckling. You skimmed the area with your nails, growing more excited watching her twitch. You'd almost forgotten how hopelessly responsive her body was to your touch, even under the faintest brush of it.

“You're a fucking problem.” You slammed an open palm up against her right cheek, smiling at the ripples the collision created in her skin. “Do you even know what you do to me?”

Of course she knew how her actions dictated your decisions, how her guise plagued every divot in your brain. Riri understood her power over you, and it was this very knowledge that had you spanking her again, and again, and again.

“H-Harder!”

Her ass was hot, sore, and damn near swollen. Her tears were heavy streams rolling from her eyes and into her gaping mouth, yet still, she desired more. A resilient little thing she was; you admired her moxie. With every lash, her sopping pussy called on your digits, needing them to plug the dribbling hole expanding the wet patch already existing on your thigh.

“You like that shit don't you? Being in pain?” Your handprint painted her butt cheek, pulling a guttural scream from her throat. “That scream wasn't an answer to my question mami.”

She was full-on bawling, blubbering in your lap when your fingers forced their way inside her cunt unexpectedly, and she lurched.

She sniffled. “Yes! I l-like it!”

“Then shut the fuck up and stop fucking crying.” You smacked her tired ass for the umpteenth time, sliding your fingers through her soaked folds, coating them with all the slick you could collect before ramming them back within her welcoming walls. “You asked for this shit, and you gon take it like the slut you are.”

“Y-You hit like a b-bitch.”

You spanked her once, twice, three times, four times, five; each hit reprimanded her unacceptable behavior as she sobbed with the brown seat leather aching between her shaking fingers.

She wiggled in your grip, wanting desperately to escape the hurtful blows that just kept coming, smack after smack after smack echoing throughout the car. “Not you tryna run Ri, thought I hit like a bitch. Nah, bring that ass back here.” You laughed.

“Please!” Each of her screams made you fuck her pussy faster, encouraged you to slap her ass harder just to revel in her burning skin as Riri cried herself to the edge of her second orgasm.

You pushed up against her nerves, thumb swatting brashly against her swollen clit. “You squeezing my fingers real tight mami, that must mean you finna come.”

“I'm, I'm…” Riri kicked her feet, whining around the deepness of your digits. When she glanced back at you your heart softened just a little. Her big brown eyes were blown the fuck out, leaking fat tears and mascara that seemed never-ending, and she chewed on her lip hoping the action would alleviate some of the hurt. “C-Com…”

Your thrusts slowed, and your hits morphed into a massage as you groped her cheeks tenderly. “Yeah, give it to me, come on my fingers, come all over them.”

“Ooh, baby you f-fucking me s-so good! I’m coming for you!”

She poked her ass out, twisting from side to side as she permitted spasming shocks of pleasure to surge throughout her body at a rapid pace, still backing up into your digits that had yet to depart her hole. “That's it, fuck yourself on my fingers Ri. Show me you can be a good girl, fuck yourself through it.”

It was a difficult thing you’d tasked her with, but luckily for her, Riri thrived off hardship. When the aftershocks subsided, her movements halted and she sighed, moaning low in her throat at the gentle pace in which you extracted your digits from inside her.

“Sit up and come taste it.” You commanded, rolling your eyes when she looked back at you weakly.

With your hand inching toward the hair hanging over her sweaty back, you looped the ends in your fist, yanking her body up until she shifted, then you turned her so her sore ass could plummet right onto the slim storage compartment she was just bent over. “I said sit up.”

Her naked cheeks being forced against the car’s leather prematurely earned you a painful cry. But you didn't care, the reaction only adding to your arousal. You used her parted, wincing lips as an opportunity to stuff her swollen mouth full of your cum covered fingertips, and she gagged from the intrusion before beginning a light suckle. “That's my good girl. Suck them clean for me. You like how you taste?”

“Mhmm.” She hummed around the digits you thrusted in and out of her mouth.

“I know, mami.” You moaned, feeling your clit jump in your pants. “Open your legs, lemme taste that pussy I just made come.”

Riri giggled, separating her sticky legs to grant your salivating tongue entrance. They made a loud squish when she spread them apart, and you could hardly contain your grunt when presented with her messy, bare, pussy lips; your drug of choice. Her cunt's shine danced like diamonds, entrancing you with a beaming glow that could not go ignored. “Shit…”

You reached out for the lever on the driver's side that pushed the seat forward, never once denying yourself face time with her spilling sex. And then you were dropping to your knees, licking your lips before burrowing open-mouth kisses into her sprawled, wet thigh.

Easing her into it failed to make your list of priorities, you wanted her wriggling, squirming with her legs trembling around your face as you slurped her folds. You were also on a mission to feed the starvation gnawing at your gut; it'd been too long since you last feasted on her, and you didn't plan on letting a single drop go to waste.

Your tongue nudged her pulsing clit, licking firmly before you wrapped your thirsty lips well around it, and Riri screeched. “W-Wait baby, wait… Ooh shit.”

And so it began, her pleas for a pause, for you to slow down and allow her to regain her strength. But sadly, her wants were of no importance to you. You trudged on, running your famished tongue around her sweet hole before slipping it all the way in. Riri tapped your head aggressively when you began a slow thrust through her aching walls, and you laughed when your eyes drifted up to see her scrunched face.

“Fuck! Oh.. w-wait..”

“What I'm waiting for Ri? You getting soft on me?”

It was apparent that your comment struck the nerve you intended it to, her huff of annoyance lighting a smile across your face. You refused to let up, licking and sucking the length of her leaking core as she jerked in between broken grumbles. “Ain't nobody s-soft. Eat it r-right and I won't have no c-complaints. Fuck!”

You simply shook your head before diving back into her pussy, rolling her clit in your tongue once more. She whined, the drugs in her system clearly heightening her stimulation, but she took it like a champ, moaning your name breathlessly from above you with her head thrown back.

Riri fisted your curls as you sucked her watering cunt, whimpering where she sat, hips rolling hard into your already stuffed mouth. “Yes! Yes! Just like that!”

“Fuck, I missed this pussy so much.”

“Yeah?” She huffed, tugging your hair to detach you from her center so your stares would align.

Wild eyes scanned your drenched face over, then she tilted your chin, boring straight through your soul with her hopeful gaze. “You missed me?”

You knew what she wanted, and you were fully prepared to give it to her.

“Yes.” Your answer elated her. It didn't matter that in your mind you were admitting to missing her cunt and the way it drooled cum right onto your accepting tongue, to Riri you were confessing to something far more intimate; to Riri you were confessing that you missed her.

The one word, the yes, was enough to bring her to the brink of her third orgasm. But she wouldn't win that easily. You stopped then, just as she was about to fall over the edge, and you let her saturated labia fall freely from your lips before smirking up at her through plotting pupils.

“The fuck are you doing? I was about to come!”

“Ion know, it don't seem like you want it enough.” You teased, making her whine in annoyance. “Need you to beg.”

You'd learned fairly early on that Riri Williams was not a girl easily deterred. With your refusal to allow her release, the job fell on her to complete. Carefully, Riri began to drag her puffy pussy along the lid of the storage compartment she was perched on, hissing in both pain and pleasure as she attempted to make herself come.

You watched her, forever wonder-strickenn by her fortitude. You should stop her, she’d already undergone one orgasm that didn't come from your hands or mouth, and you didn't want that happening again, but the image of her working through the pain brought on by her sore ass cheeks creating friction against the leather was a sight to behold.

“I’m so c-close! Please can I come?!” Her hands found her erect nipples, the standing nubs threatening to rip their way out of her dress. “Please, let me come!”

Her pussy sloshed against the column, her hip jolts splashing her wetness everywhere. Granting her permission would be easy, considering how badly you wanted to enclose her clit in between your lips again, have her juices course your veins like your own personal brand of ecstasy as she convulsed from the shock waves you caused to ripple throughout her body. But you weren't looking for easy, not tonight, not after her behavior.

Your fingers located her waist, holding her still and making her groan in frustration when your strength prohibited her humping. “Mm, do you deserve it?”

“Yes I fucking deserve it!” She yelled, irritated, “Let me fucking come oh my god!”

“That mouth mami. How you gon talk to me like that and think Ima let you come? Hmm?” You parted her thighs, nuzzling your face back into the sweaty space before planting a kiss on her hot skin. “Say you're sorry.”

“No!”

You'd predicted her protest, and you took it as your opening to sink your teeth into her pretty waist. You didn't stop amidst her wails, instead, you dove deeper, biting her flesh with more ferocity. “Say you're sorry Ri.”

Still, she shook her head, standing her ground.

Fuck, you loved how stubborn she was, but you'd never admit that out loud. Luck had been on her side it seemed, because she gave in merely seconds ahead of you puncturing skin, weeping through her words. “I'm s-sorry! I'm s-sorry, baby pl-ease let me come!”

Truthfully you were in awe of how long she held out, surprised by even your own restraint with her pussy lips shoved directly in your face. You were spitting on her bud soon after, suckling her bundle of nerves harshly as you hummed into her quivering sex. “Come in my mouth mami.”

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” Within seconds of your go-ahead, Riri was gushing onto your face, your seats, squirting on everything in her vicinity with a scream so powerful, the hairs on your neck rose to attention.

“Shit Ri, you made a mess all over my fucking seats. I told you this car is new.”

She awarded you a weak chuckle, on the edge of collapse before you steadied her frail body. “You think I give a damn, baby? You can clean all that shit up with your mouth if you so bothered.”

Her smirk was a thing contrived of pure, unbridled deception, and she sported the smoky eyes to match. These were reasons to incite terror, but for you, they only bustled your intrigue.

•••

The blade danced beneath the strap of Riri's dress, leisurely cutting her shoulder free and you watched from in front of her as the frayed fabric fell gracefully away from her skin. “You putting a lot of power in my hands right now Ri.”

“Mhmm. What you gon do with it baby?”

You moved to the other, repeating your destructive motion before finally positioning the gold-trimmed point at her clavicle, gliding the jagged dagger down her chest. Thread after thread bursted under your descent, doing away with everything left of her torn gown, exposing more of Riri's tender flesh.

Riri watched, bewitched by the way you skillfully maneuvered the blade she'd entrusted to you. “You so fucking pretty mami.”

Words that made her brazen, words that bestowed upon you the power to control her body without the need of a weapon. But you used it still, grazing the edge up her bare stomach as she twitched beneath its scrapes. You stopped once you met her bra, slicing it clean down the middle with your lust-filled eyes glued to hers. Riri gasped, startled by your abruptness and the twinge of danger you knew she caught swimming in your irises when her boobs bounced free, and the small baggie of pills fell from its warm hiding spot.

“You sure you don't want one?” She waved it in your face, and you began to contemplate her question. Riri was no stranger to a pill or two, so her enthusiasm hadn't been a surprise. She always offered, and you always declined, more than content with the natural high you floated on from merely making her come undone for you.

Tonight though, something about the tension building in the car was about to coerce a yes right on out of you. But, something else thieved your attention just as you were about to offer her an answer.

Letters. A word. A name. Your name.

Inscribed into her flesh, squarely below her left breast sitting gorgeously in your face, was a tattoo illustrating your name. You blinked, believing you'd somehow imagined the ink and its placement. Unconsciously, you hoisted the knife up toward the tattoo, running the dagger along each and every letter in amazement.

“Do you like it, baby?” Meek words leaving generally poised lips.

Riri had marked herself in your name, in you. And you decided you did indeed like it, you loved knowing that no matter where she ventured, no matter whose fingers wandered her skin, your claim on her would still exist. Permanently. “This my surprise? Cause yeah, I do like it mami.”

You let your lips replace the blade, kissing the tattoo that exemplified your ownership of her body as she giggled from the heat your breath blew onto her.

“Not your main surprise, but I guess it's a s-surprise.”

Soon your lips were latched to her poking nipple, your tongue swirling and tugging on it. She was moaning, a sound that intensified when she felt the sharp jab of the weapon you wielded circle her other bejeweled nub. “Shit… that hurts so damn good baby. Keep it right there.”

Her whimpers traveled directly to your sopping pussy still locked away in your pants. You were swimming in your own wetness, floating atop a wave that threatened to crash down on you the longer you dragged the same knife she held to the column of your throat around her responsive tits. “Yeah? It hurts?”

“L-Love when you make me hurt baby.”

After letting go of her spit-covered nipple, you flattened the sharp tool against it, watching her hiss under the cool contact. You scuffed the steel bar poking through her pebbled nipple with the knife, humming on key with the scraping sound of metal on metal. “I can keep hurting you, or you can give me that surprise I know you want me to have so bad.”

You aligned the pretty dagger with her sweaty neck, and she grinned menacingly. Before the chance to process her guile even arose, Riri regained control of the knife, using it to assist her in widening your mouth. She wiped the back against your tongue, swiping it down the length of your wet muscle. “Your surprise is up next, in the meantime I need you to stick this tongue out for me before I cut it clean off like I promised.”

“You're cute.” You laughed, but you did as she said. Your tongue extended out, and Riri leaned forward, plopping one of her little happy pills directly in the center, waiting for you to swallow it.

“Extraordinary.” She smirked. And then her lips were on yours, kissing you roughly as she sat her naked form in your lap.

•••

Riri attacked your lips with gusto, kissing you like the air you expelled into her was the very breath she desired for survival, and every one of your pecks matched her intensity. “Baby, lemme make you feel good.”

She broke the kiss slowly, tentative in her release of your hot, wanting mouth. But you refused to let her go, holding and compressing her throat amidst her hand fumbling around on the floor. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm…” A second attempt to pull away made you curious as to what she could be searching for. Usually, her main method of action would be to eat you out until your quaking knees detained her head in their hold, and even then she'd still refuse to let up. But that didn't seem to be her intention here.

You groped her boobs, trying your hardest to pinch one of her sparkly nipples, but yet another threat was tossed your way. This time it was your fingers in jeopardy of severance, so you let her go with a deep chuckle. She leaned to the side, pulling her backpack free from under the front seat and you looked at her inquisitively.

Riri upheld her silence, unzipping the bag from her perched position in your lap.

“What–”

Your question hadn't the chance to escape your lips, because soon the lavender glint of the sizable toy Riri used in the photos dispersed across your bathroom counter reflected in your curious eyes. “Tada!”

“Riri what is that?”

“Um, the fuck does it look like?” She tossed you the harness, worming out of your lap and onto the floor in between the driver's seat and the one you sat in now. Your eyes raked the dildo, examining its shape and the intricacies put into its creation. It looked more… advanced than the ones you were used to, an observation that awakened your fascination.

Riri on the other hand, appeared beyond excited. She fumbled with your belt impatiently before deciding to hack at it with her sharp tool. She popped your button open, and mechanically, your hips levitated so she could guide your bottoms down your legs.

“You this wet and you was talm bout some you not happy to see me. Just be lying for no reason baby.” She laughed, tracing a finger over your pulsating clit and you sighed. With all the straining, and all the buildup you'd been suffering through, that lone stroke could've been enough to do you in, a fact Riri was privy to when she smiled up at you. “Strap up baby, need you inside me.”

You wasted no time assembling the strap and securing the toy in place, and with Riri’s help, the harness was adjusted to your body. She positioned herself across the center console for a second time, sticking her ass out as you kneeled behind her in the seat, admiring the display of her used hole. She backed up onto nothing, trying, and failing to get the tip inside on her own. “You're taking too long! Please, I need you!”

Fuck, you supposed by now Riri's unwavering stamina shouldn't be a thing that caused bewilderment, but it would forever be an entertaining sight. She was sexiest like this; eager; desperate for you to destroy her. “You need it so bad, don't you mami?”

“Yes! Please fuck me!”

She needed not to state her demand again, so you snaked your palm around the tip, pumping it gently before invading Riri's soaked cunt.

The instant you bottomed out, Riri trapped the strap inside her narrowing walls, restricting your movement at the same time your eyes began to roll to the back of your mind. Her wetness, her constricting tightness, the heat derived from stretching her velvety cunt wide; you could feel all of her. It was way too overwhelming, the stimulation weakening your muscles.

You hadn't even gotten a single stroke in and you were already fighting off an orgasm, gripping firmly to her hips in hopes of stopping your collapse. “W-What– Why can– Ri, I can f-feel you. Shit…”

You remained still for a few beats, wanting, needing to savor the snugness of Riri’s warmth before drilling her as she deserved. Her squeeze was intense enough to make your eyes well just a little, and you were certain whenever you did allow that pleasure rush to stifle you, the tears would be unavoidable.

“Surprise! You like it, baby? I made it special for you.”

Of course she made it. You pulled out slowly, then pushed back in, still consumed by the sensation, barely able to keep a steady rhythm as you rocked into her dribbling pussy. “Fuck Ri, this is…”

“Shit! Tell me how good my pussy feels, I'm tight, huh?” Your stamping fingers dented her skin as you began to create a rapidly growing pace of stuffing her full of the faux dick she craved so much, and your thrusts had her quaking around you. Feeling every divot in her pussy walls had only ever been a fantasy, one that existed now as your reality, because you unknowingly chose to fuck a super genius who just so happened to be a little off her rocker.

If you thought you were addicted to her cunt before, this strap just changed the game entirely.

You were fucking her with abandon once completely adjusted, snapping into her again and again with an unrelenting grip on her hips; you’d be admiring the marks you left behind later on. Each thrust sent Riri’s small body forward on the armrest, her cries meshing with your breathy moans that fogged the car windows. “Ooh mami, you so fucking tight. Your crazy ass really made a strap so I can feel this pussy, god.”

Your hips crashed into her bouncing ass cheeks, the impact forcing rushed whines out of her throat. You couldn't tell if the sounds were intended to be words, but truthfully you didn't care, far too enraptured by the feeling of fucking her obnoxiously loud cunt.

Every thrust caused her seeping pussy to squish louder, every squish making your clit thump faster as your high began its heightening.

“Your desperate ass always so damn wet for me, I bet you don't let nobody else fuck you, huh? You know I’m the only one who can treat this pussy right.”

She groaned, attempting to speak through your abusive jolts, “Don't f-flatter yourself, I let plenty of other people hit. This ain't y-your p-pussy.”

It was a trap, an obvious one designed to rile you up, but you chose to fall victim anyway, using the molly floating in your bloodstream to control the power dives you took into her tired little cunt. “Oh it ain't?”

She couldn't even speak with the tip of the strap bludgeoning her sensitive nerves, but she still shook her head defiantly. Riri’s hole gobbled up the girthy toy impressively as you leaned back to marvel at the way it disappeared, then reemerged from inside her convulsing walls.

“Why she leaking this much then? Messing up my fucking seats. So damn wet mami.” You slammed into her cervix. “You make special straps for all them other bitches? You let them slut your nasty ass out on the highway like this? Who else you let use your needy little pussy like this?”

Riri was sobbing, loud and boisterous, almost able to give your screaming fans a run for their money with her pitiful little sounds. A few cars honked on their drive past your parked vehicle, certainly aware of the goings on inside. The Ferrari rocked in tandem with your jabs into Riri’s g-spot, the back and forth motion assisting you in pushing deeper into the smaller girl's sex.

“You hear me talking to you don't you Ri?” A deliberate slap met her welted ass cheek, forcing her to scream. “Why you so quiet? This wet ass pussy louder than that fucking mouth right now. You hear that?”

You fucked her harder, grunting loudly into the air when she squeezed your shaft; she was close.

“Pl-ease!”

“This dick shutting you up or something? Pl-ease what?” You mocked, spanking her again, and rattling her entire being.

She pushed back on the unrelenting curved member digging her out, a whimpering mess when she glanced back at you, catching your eyes with her helpless ones. “Wan– Wanna c-come! M-Make this pussy come for you!”

You tsked, “Thought this wasn't my pussy though. Can't make you come if this ain't my pussy.”

Her broken voice made your cock twitch deep inside her, something you hadn't expected and couldn't control.

“M’sorry, it's yours! M'sorry, it's your pussy b-baby, pleaseee!” She cried, squirming as you rammed into her special spot.

“Fuck… What you sorry for Ri?” You tugged on her locs.

You freed one of her hips, looping your hand under her sweaty abdomen so your digits could press into her clit. God, it was too much for her, the endless pounding, the swift flicking of her bud, the jarring hair pulling. You were barely able to move inside her contracting cunt, but you weren't letting her off that easily. “Tell me what you sorry for.”

“All of it, baby all of it! Sorry for s-sending those videos to y-your girlfriend, s-sorry for breaking into your room, your car, s-sorry for hurting that girl at the bar! I'm sor–”

Your thrusts stopped, “You did what?”

“I didn't mean t-to…”

Cautiously, you pulled the strap from inside her reluctant cunt, falling back into the dampened, sticky seat in disbelief.

And Riri followed you, outwardly panicked when she dropped into your lap. She hung her head in shame as she rambled, wanting to explain herself. “She was just flirting with you and you were flirting back, and I didn't like that, cause you're mine, and–”

You thought back to the bar, to Esperanza, to the thud you heard when you were on the phone with Riri earlier, and you tilted her chin so she could look you in the eyes. “Riri… what did you do to her?”

A sound you hadn't expected, but most certainly should've anticipated rumbled out of her: a chilling chuckle. Gone was her frown, in its place stretched a smile that accentuated her unruly eyes. And of course, her seductive response to your pressing question was not an adequate answer. “Put it back in baby, or I’ll fucking bleed you dry.”

You smirked, teasing her clit with the head of the strap. “Crazy girl.”

Damn her, you shouldn't be enjoying this, but you became smitten with the idea of her hurting someone all because she wanted you to herself. It was sick, you were sick, maybe just as sick as her.

Her pussy was dripping onto your dick, coating the length of it with each grind meant to coax you back into fucking her, and it was certainly working.

Riri brought her trusty blade back up to your throat. She pressed in harder this go ‘round, threatening to drag it along your skin, and you were prepared to let her. She leaned in, her breath a warm ghost kissing you instead of her lips. “How many times do I have to tell you I really, really hate that fucking word. Stop saying it.”

“Would you prefer insane?” You clipped back, spitefully teasing as Riri quite literally held your life in her hands. You should be terrified, the bitch was deranged enough to kill you, but the feeling coursing through you was more akin to fear's distant cousin — thrill.

“I'm not crazy,” You could feel the knife's indentation, and your throat bobbed beneath it. “I'm not insane.” She was gliding the dangerous tool against your neck now, and you felt your skin tear, small streaks of warm blood rolling down your tilted neck, catching Riri's wild eyes.

“I just know what I want, and I always get it.”

You moaned, still rubbing up against her overly used clit, head spinning as you reveled in the heat of your crimson liquid staining your chest and Riri's.

Riri lowered the knife, pecking your cheek lovingly before extending her tongue to the shallow little cut she drew into your neck, running it along the length and licking the beautiful blood decorating the area. “And right now I want you to let me ride you, want you to slam into me and punish me for all the bad things I’ve done. I deserve it.”

The head of the toy was still trapped in your fist, twitching from Riri’s every word. You glided it through her crying folds, brushing her hole but not quite shoving your way inside, and she whined.

“Don't p-play. Please just f-fuck me baby.”

And that was all it took for you to slam up into her hovering hole, bullying your way inside her walls as she screamed from the intrusion. “Fuck! Just like that! Keep fucking this pussy like that! Go deep baby, make me take it!”

“This how you want it Ri? You want me to fuck this greedy pussy like this?” Your violent pumps shook her, and she slapped her open palm up against the window to keep herself upright, the knife clattering to the floor. “Use that nasty mouth and answer me when I fucking speak to you.”

But how could she?

Your hands needed something to grab onto as her addictive heat consumed every inch of your dick yet again, nearly rendering you unconscious, so naturally, they gravitated to her neck.

Your fist was strangling her throat, blocking her airflow and her ability to say words. You used her neck to pull her down onto the throbbing member ravaging her tight wetness, enjoying the melody performed by her pussy far more than any of your own.

Shit, you were going to come, and from the feel of things, you were going to unload inside her. An unfamiliar sensation began to brew inside your abdomen, a tightness you knew well, but tucked behind it was something far more rattling, and you weren't prepared for it at all.

“Ooh mami, I'm finna– I think I'm–”

She tapped your stifling fist, unable to breathe and you let her go so she could cough. “I-Inside… do it ins-side!”

And oh fuck, you felt it, the hunger that Syla had never once been able to truly feed. Riri could though, her strangling pussy walls could do that and more.

Your vision went white, and you were quite certain every star in the galaxy resided behind your welling eyelids. Ropes of your release spilled into her accepting cunt, filling her so much, everything that didn't fit leaked right back out and onto your already filthy seats.

“Fuck! Fuck! Oh fuck!”

“Tell me you love me.” She continued to bounce on the strap. You were so sensitive, you could barely take it, but you tunneled your fingertips into her ass cheeks anyway, aiding her as she rode you through your orgasm.

Riri leaned in, kissing your dry lips, “Say it. Tell me.”

“I love you…” You didn't mean it, not in the way she hoped you did. You never meant it when she made you say it, but it made her happy in the moment, and it made her flood your dick, so you always obliged.

With her pussy drowning in cum, hers and your own, she gingerly eased the strap from inside her, slithering onto the floor to wearily envelop your twitching dickhead in her swollen lips, but your ringtone stopped her.

“It's your girlfriend.” She chuckled jeeringly when she turned to read the name flashing your phone screen in the front.

“Let the bitch go to voicemail.” Your final words before you felt Riri swallow you whole, slobbering on the dildo as she permitted your second load to trickle down her throat.

•••

Serenity swaddled you while you lay there, helpless, following Riri's skillful performance with her mouth and jaw. You were still as the unbound night outside the steamy car windows, watching through drooping, fucked out eyes as Riri climbed into the driver's seat. She revved life back into the Ferrari's engine, stealing you, and driving you off to a destination unknown.

#riri williams x black!reader #riri williams x reader #riri williams fanfic #riri williams x black!fem!reader #riri williams x y/n #riri williams smut #mcu riri williams #riri williams x fem!reader #riri williams #ironheart x black!reader #ironheart x reader #ironheart #ironheart x y/n #ironheart fanfic #dominique thorne #dominique thorne fanfic #lyricswriting #my works #riri x black!reader #riri smut #Spotify #riri x reader #riri x you #riri black panther #black panther wakanda forever #bpwf #sub!riri #bottom!riri

[morallygreyyn]

I love your writing so much.

If it's not a bother, could I have a (maybe little bit ooc) scenario about Illumi realizing the people he hangs out with most (Hisoka and Reader, a truly chaotic duo) are dumbasses, but he loves enjoys having them around?

Thank you!!

those two idiots of mine (illumi x reader x bestfriend!hisoka) (scenario)

description: illumi has a semi crisis over his two self proclaimed best friends

authors note:  it’s not a bother at all and you’re so sweet anon! tbh this has to be my favourite request i’ve gotten so far. illumi dealing with his chaotic duo besties with begrudging love? sign me the fuck up <3

also this also had extrovert/introvert themes so i thought i’d include the mbtis of my boys

illumi: istj (according to a quick google search)

hisoka: entp (like yours truly) (i swear sharing an mbti with hisoka is my defining trait)

reader: whatever the fuck you are (insert your mbti here)

warnings: might be a smidge ooc, i really tried my best to make it have an authentic illumi feel but my guy is dealing with emotions so yk...

requests are open!

Of all the tiresome things Illumi had dealt with in his life, having you and Hisoka be his primary source of socialising might be top of the list. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you all started to meet up regularly for various things, nor could he remember when you had self proclaimed yourselves his best friends.

You and Hisoka were both utterly ridiculous, often matching each other's wild energy as if you were on the same brainwave.

Illumi began to question his ‘friendship’ with you when you and Hisoka started debating whether or not ketchup was a smoothie.

“It’s a blended fruit.”

“But you have it as a condiment with savoury foods.” You argued, whacking the magician’s head with a newspaper.

He swatted you away with an amused hum. “That doesn’t change its nature.”

“You don’t drink ketchup.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Illumi quietly listened to his two best friends argue as you all sat round a table.

As he watched the two of you bicker back and forth, he was unable to fathom your unique stupidity. The assassin understood that individually, his friends were incredibly intelligent and capable people. However once together, you two seemed to share the collective intellect of a prawn. 

“Illumi!” The assassin was brought out of his internal suffering by the very source itself. Both you and Hisoka had decided that for some reason they needed a third person’s opinions on your debate. 

“I’m not getting involved.”

“C’monn, please?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“I’ll give Hisoka Killua’s number.”

“Ketchup is a savoury condiment, not a smoothie.”

You let out a whoop of victory, fist-pumping the air in your joy. “HA! Suck it Hisoka!”

“That’s no good, he’s biased.” Hisoka tutted, shaking his head and folding his arms. “You know Illumi always sides with you.”

“That’s because he loves me.”

“Unconfirmed by him.”

“Confirmed in his heart.”

“Does he even have one?’ Hisoka shot.

“Do you even have one?” You fired back.

“Touché.”

Illumi sat there locked in a daze, listening to his two best friends argue like children. Yeah, you two were both the biggest idiots he had ever met, but he wouldn’t change you for the world. Of course he would never say this, but it never stopped the two of you from trying. 

And so what if he loved enjoyed having the two of you around? Who would be able to tell anyway?

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #hxh x you #hxh x y/n #hxh oneshot #hxh scenarios #illumi #illumi zoldyck #Illumi hunter x hunter #illumi x reader #hxh illumi #hunter x hunter illumi #illumi zoldyck x reader #hisoka #hxh hisoka #hisoka marrow #hisoka marrow x reader #hisoka x reader #hisoka x y/n #hisoka x you #illumi x y/n #illumi x you #hisoka hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter hisoka #illumi x hisoka

[lolaandthens0me]

How do you recommend dealing with being the kinky partner in a vanilla relationship? Are there realistic options other than divorce?

Hi Anon! Here’s a BIG HUG.

It sounds like you are experiencing a difficult time right now. I know how heartbreaking it can be to wake up and wish for a different sex life/intimacy level/amount of closeness within your relationship. I can’t speak to being the kinky partner in a vanilla relationship as that was not the case in my marriage, but I can speak to the struggle of feeling unseen and unmet in my kinky desires. And ultimately for me, that was just not enough. I deeply need partners that can understand, participate in, and uplift my sexuality as that is one of the most important layers to my authentic, well self.

This is a really nuanced, difficult question to ask yourself…can my partner and I live happily and meaningfully within our relationship without introducing kink into it? There is a vast expanse of experiences out there and each person has a different level of kink importance to them. My marriage ended for a few reasons. My being polyamorous and bisexual were a couple of them, but not the only reasons. For me, I determined through months and months of therapy, couple’s counseling, deep self-study and growth that I need kink dynamics and the openness to act upon all of my sexual interests, as well as the ability to love as many people as my heart feels called to. That may not be a need for you. There may be a way to fulfillment, peace, and joy within your relationship through open and honest communication, work, exploration, and compromise together. I am highly driven by my sexuality; it allows me to fully see color in all other areas of my life. Others are beautifully content in occasional or more of a lifestyle-type wearing of diapers. Only your soul knows what level it needs to thrive.

I will always, always be an advocate of talking openly and honestly to find a path together within relationships. It can be a really hard process, but one that is necessary for any relationship to be imbued with love, support, respect, and fulfillment. So my advice is to sit down, come with respect and empathy for your partner, speak your truth and needs with kindness, and open your ears and heart to what your partner needs too. Only together can you find what is best for each of you.

The podcast Love in Brief is a great resource for advice on telling your vanilla partner about abdl and how to incorporate kink within your relationship. The guests on Episodes 67 and 68 are a kink/vanilla couple offering advice. And Episode 87 speaks to sustaining the relationship after bringing kink into it.

My heart goes with you in this difficult quest, Anon. May you both find the happiness, understanding, compassion, and love you deserve. 💕

[intheholler]

What makes you count as Appalachian? I was born outside the Appalachians but my family has a long history there and used to live there for the early years of my life but haven’t lived there since.

I hesitate to call myself Appalachian truly but I do feel most at home there and miss it greatly. I wish I was better connected with the culture overall.

Even if I wouldn’t be considered Appalachian, this blog is a great comfort and I thank you for running it! :)

(another identity-questioning anon, another long ass answer bc i feel for you)

first, i wanna say that no one gets to define who you are but you, and especially not me. that said--i hope my opinion benefits you in some way.

when you say what 'counts' as appalachian, it sounds like ur holding urself up against a set of strictly defined traits, and that isn't fair to you. try to shed that mindset.

now. my idea of what makes a person appalachian is this:

direct ties to the region. period.

either you live here now, grew up here but moved away at some point, even just spent the bulk of your childhood visiting family here--whatever steeped you in the land and the culture for long enough for it to become an authentic, meaningful part of you.

spending the "early years" of your life here and being raised by appalachian folks outside of here definitely qualifies (in my eyes, which, again, aren't the defining lens).

and location isn't all, bc culture isn't a static place.

when i was dealing with my own appalachian identity crisis(TM), i learned about the appalachian diaspora. i don't mean to 'splain, but, just in case you aren't familiar with the term:

di·as·po·ra /dīˈasp(ə)rə/ noun the dispersion or spread of a people from their original homeland

there are any number of reasons why we as a people leave our homes even if the roots done grown thick and intertwined. economic or socioeconomic reasons, usually.

mine was economic. (not to make this about me, but i always hope my experience can provide some helpful perspective)

i was born in nc and grew up poor as hell. my dad was a contractor, so we moved around wherever the money was. usually didn't stay in one place more than two years but always either lived in the mountains of nc or in the piedmont region of SC.

i have spent over half my life in appalachia, and a little under half on the outskirts. the times where i didn't live here used to make me question everything, since i'm not a cradle-to-casket, never-left-never-will appalachian.

but i came to see that's really fucking unfair to do that to myself, because it was never my choice. it wasn't yours, either.

appalachia informs every single part of who i am, from my values to my queerness, from my education to my (leftist) politics, from my beliefs to my worldview.

my family has been here for centuries, and grew up on the same soils in scotland. i spent my formative years here. no matter what, i was raised by appalachian women, speaking the appalachian dialect, eating appalachian food, and living the appalachian way of life, for better or worse.

some time spent elsewhere don't change that. neither does it for you.

all of that said, i get it, bc i still sometimes struggle with The Crisis. moving around so much means i never had one exact place i can call my hometown the way most people do, that i never had a place to plant permanent roots.

so, being "from appalachia" as a region is deeply, deeply important to my identity and sense of self. and that's all that matters. if it's important to your identity, then that's all that matters.

and like hell does anyone get to tell me one way or the other. lord help em if they try. they don't get to tell you, either. you spent your childhood here. if feels like home, then it's home <3

#asks #appalachia

[onlyhereforangst]

I don’t go here but you’ve mentioned chenford isn’t great. Do I know what Chenford is? No. Do I still know they broke up? Yes.

Pls share the fandom lore and ur thots 🎤

ok so.

chenford, or lucy chen & tim bradford- former rookie & training officer, respectively. the actual characters have been written so fucking phenomenally i barely have words (she says as if she isn’t about to just. go off). they have managed to truly incorporate authentic human flaws and emotions and decision-making into these characters which have, across six seasons, played out for gorgeous individual & paired character arcs. like they are GREAT are they in a great spot? no. but they are FANTASTIC.

now.

if you were to ask the fandom that same question. excuse me while i die laughing 💀 unfortunately the strikes really helped a large majority of the chenford fandom to twist canon into barely recognizable fanon and now that canon is back and progressing as it absolutely narratively should people are losing their gd minds. deactivating accounts, claiming their done with the show, touting that they’ve been manipulated a bold face lie if you have critical thinking skills but i digress. there’s a select few of us having the time of our damn lives, feeling blessed to have such good writing on a procedural????? of all things. unheard of. truly.

so yeah the fandom is Something because who doesn't enjoy a feast of delicious angst? i mean lucy cannot stop inserting herself into every situation, even her boyfriend who has repeatedly asked her to not because he is trying to protect her (this is it's own separate problem) but literally flinging yourself around outright screaming at your significant other is just. not it. i speak from experience 💀 this is not how you get someone to healthily tell you what's bothering them to the point of tears multiple times. its like if lucy isn't the default hero she just cannot handle? its insane and beautiful because its her tragic flaw coming to a glorious, screeching climax. AND meanwhile??? so is tim's!!!! his loyalty to a tragic fault got him in a bind and he doesn't know what to do and can't handle and thinks protecting the one he loves by shutting her out is the way to be most loyal to HER because suddenly he doesn't feel he deserves her so he's going to break his own heart since lucy was too polite to do it.

anyways this storyline has been blessedly built up with undertones and crumbs since literally the end of season 4 and the fandom acts like it was a total blindside. lmao honeys. have you watched the show??? plus its been teased in interviews for over a year i can't 😭

both characters have a LOT of growing and self-discovery to happen individually before they can even begin to consider being in a relationship. not when that relationship had been built on a foundation of subordinate-superior. that *shockingly* doesn't equate to a romantic relationship of equals and guess what?! it had its ramifications!!! miscommunication trope my beloved you slayed.

ok that was surely more than you wanted seek but a million voice notes to the like 2 people that have been calling this storyline with me since the beginning and the vibrating still isn't out of my system!!! cheers to the hate anons i'm sure to get if anyone takes the time to read this 🍻

#ask #seek--rest #chenford #the rookie #the rookie spoilers #i am thriving living my best life skin hasn't been more clear

[merakiui]

I've been rereading azul thought 4 and it was amazinggg!!! But I've been wondering- was Azuu really like inlove or was he just lying about it?

I've been imagining this angst scenario where instead, darling feels really distrustful and wary after he took their voice, so they're saying no to the second contract.

or if she's forced into it, shes resorting to avoiding him, not showing up to almost all of their dates to the point he's sending the tweels to retrieve her and when they're in public, she's pushing off his hands, whispering that "they can't be seen together" (just like at the start of their previous contract) because of after what happened on their previous contract, she's purely convinced that their relationship is purely contractual

- 🐙 Azul's tentacle anon

Aaaa Azul thought 4… my favorite thought I’ve ever written for him. <3 thank you so much for enjoying it!!!!!

To answer your question, he is indeed in love with you. There’s no way he could ever lie about something like that, as the entire reason he wanted you to sign a contract in the first place was so that he’d have a better chance of wooing you (though we all know he wasn’t going to go about that through natural, honest means). It’s implied Azul was only pursuing you because he wants that branch café out of Ramshackle, but Reader was too stubborn and distrustful of him to ever entertain any deals.

And though he still does want that branch café for the lounge, he loves you much more and has continued to do so with each passing day. You’ve outsmarted him once and now you continue to evade him, so naturally he’s going to fall even more in love with you and your charms! He tries to propose a deal by using the want for a branch café as an excuse to have you sign a contract, but naturally you say no. So his last resort, as seen at the start of the fic, is getting the twins to drag you to him by force (also not a very honest method… >_<) so that he can catch you when you’re vulnerable and desperately in need of a helpful, benevolent deal. :)

Throughout the entire fic, Azul is in love with you! He just hides most of his feelings, masking each under the guise of contract terms. Also, he’s terrible at expressing this love (i.e. cowardly and self-conscious) and since your relationship with him is contractual he gets away with hinting things here and there. Most, if not all, of his flirty remarks are real and come from the heart. When he calls you Miss Megamouth or clownfish, he means both lightheartedly and lovingly. They’re his terms of endearment for you, but he masks them in a playful tone so you won’t suspect there’s more to those names. Originally, I wanted him to start calling you angelfish right away, but that felt too intimate for a situation that’s built upon (supposedly) loveless sex.

It’s also why he flirts with you so much throughout the fic. T-T he’s down so bad, but he can’t risk breaking the contract terms by saying “I love you,” so instead he skirts around it with so much flirting. Also, Azul is 99% certain you’ll never reciprocate his feelings, so a confession is out of the question (hence why he cheats and uses love potions).

Ramblings aside, your angst ideas are so good omg!!!! It already hurt Azul when you avoided him for that one week in the fic, even if he knew it would happen and that it had to happen if he wanted to move forward in his plans, but it still saddened him greatly. :( so if you were to push him away, he’d be so crushed. He loves you, after all, so of course he wouldn’t want you to distance yourself. I imagine he’s still feeding you love potions to make the relationship feel authentic and so you’ll continue to reciprocate his affections. Imagine an angst situation in which you learn about this and the spell breaks and suddenly you’re freed from feeling so obsessed and in love with him, and that’s why you begin to avoid him because you feel so betrayed. Aaaaa there are so many avenues for angst with a concept like this. >:)

#twisted chit chat #azul’s tentacle anon

[jerseyshoresy]

Just a Little Off the Top!

Reader gets top surgery, Shoresy gets… points for trying to help reader recover

Shoresy x masculine enby/ftm reader (request from anon, I hope you like it! :) also, I’ve not had top surgery nor am I enby/transgender but I used my own experience with surgeries and did as much research as I could to do this story justice <3)

Warnings: cussing, mentions of medical drains and blood

You checked your phone for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day, but you needed an answer, quick. Your top surgery was tomorrow and though you originally had a ride to and from the hospital lined up, your best friend had a family emergency of their own to deal with.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you, y/n, but my mom is in the hospital down in the states by herself and I need to go see her as soon as I can. Is there any way I can line someone else up to get you there? I feel horrible!”

“No, no, it’s totally okay, I understand! She needs you right now, I can find another person, no problem!”

It was a problem. Everyone you knew was out of town or had important plans they couldn’t reschedule. You didn’t want to cancel surgery since you had this date lined up for months, but if you didn’t have a ride, you couldn’t get the procedure done. Sighing, you flung your phone across the room and onto the couch.

“Fuck,” you softly whispered, placing your hands on your head in frustration. All of a sudden, your phone began to ring. You looked at the caller ID and answered.

“Shoresy! How goes it?”

“Hey y/n! You wanna hit the barn tomorrow, play a little two on two with the guys?”

You paused. Yeah, you really wanted this surgery, but if you couldn’t get it done right now, you might as well take out your disappointment on the ice.

“It’s a definite maybe. I have surgery scheduled for tomorrow, but no one’s around to drive me to and from the hospital. I’ll cancel it and let you know if I’m up for a skate. How’s that sound?”

There was silence for one, two, three seconds—

“Y/n, what the fuck?”

You were taken aback while he continued. “Why didn’t you ask me? I’ll drive you.”

“O-oh,” you stuttered, “thank you Shoresy! That actually would be really great. I just figured you were so busy and I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me? We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends help each other out. That’s, like, rule number one of friendship. What time should I be over?”

“6:30 am. Bright and early,” you answered with a big smile.

“Alright. See you then!” The call ended.

You couldn’t believe your luck. Of course Shoresy would pull through, he always did. He was your most dependable friend. He would be the best boyfriend too, but you doubted he saw you that way. You were just someone he liked to play hockey and get drinks with. Nothing more. You could live with that, even though it hurt, because Shoresy was just one of those guys that it was worth just knowing. He was such a bright light in everyone’s lives and you were grateful he liked to be around you too, even as just friends. As you prepped your bedroom for your recovery, putting in extra pillows and blankets to be as comfortable as possible, you noticed the extra pep in your step. You were ready for this surgery and you couldn’t wait to live as your most authentic self.

Beep, beep, beep.

You groaned. Your alarm flashed 6am, signaling it was time to get up and get ready for the big day. You took your shower, put on your sweats, and brushed your teeth. You were nervous and hungry, and neither of those things could be remedied so you sat on your couch until you heard a knock at your door. When you saw Shoresy, your heart fluttered and you weren’t sure if it was from your anxiety surrounding your procedure or the fact that he looks especially handsome in the early hours of the morning.

“You ready to go?” he asked, flashing you his signature missing tooth grin.

You nodded and made your way out to his car. The hospital was only 30 minutes down the road but the ride felt like it was taking forever. Shoresy, for once in his life, kept quiet so as not to bother you in the wee hours of the morning and because it looked like you were gonna puke. He could sense the tension in the car that the soft radio chatter wasn’t helping with so he decided to make light conversation.

“So, y/n, what surgery are you getting done?”

You gasped internally. You never told him! Of course all of your friends knew how you identified, and all, of course, were nothing but accepting, but you never mentioned getting top surgery. Why? You didn’t know. Maybe you were nervous? Of what? People get surgery all the time, this was nothing different.

“Well, actually, I’m getting top surgery,” you told him. Shoresy gave you a quick glance before his eyes went back to the road.

“Like, top surgery?” he asked, using one hand to gesture across his chest.

“Yeah.”

It was silent for a minute.

“Well, shit, y/n, you better heal up fast because me and the boys aren’t gonna take it easy on you on the ice! Just ‘cause you get surgery doesn’t mean we’re not gonna keep slamming into ya.”

You started smiling. “Oh fuck you, Shoresy!”

“Fer what?” he asked, laughing.

The rest of the car ride went well and you were able to relax a bit. Just being around Shoresy helped to calm you down, even when you were in your hospital gown, waiting to get wheeled into the operating room. When the nurse finally came in to wheel you away, your heart starting beating a bit faster and your breathing got a bit heavier. Shoresy must have noticed the changes in your demeanor because he immediately grabbed your hand.

“Y/n. You’ll be alright. I promise. I’ll be right here, waiting for ya.”

You nodded as Shoresy gazed into your eyes. He seemed like he wanted to say more but there was no time.

“Okay, away we go!” said the nurse, and the last thing that was on your mind before the anesthesia knocked you out was Shoresy’s reluctance to let go of your hand.

The lights were bright as you opened your eyes. At first, you were slightly confused as to where you were, but when Shoresy entered into view, you remembered your surgery—oh! Your surgery! That’s why your chest was aching so bad. Even with the compression bandage covering your chest, you were beyond elated with the results. Your chest was finally flat! You broke out into a big, loopy smile and Shoresy matched your energy, giving you one right back.

“Told ya you’d be fine,” he said with a wink. You registered his hand resting on your leg and it felt comforting. There was no one else you’d rather see by your side at this moment. After a few more minutes, you had to get your hospital gown off and get back into normal clothes. Shoresy was quick to volunteer to help you instead of the nurse. Thankfully you were dealing with the after anesthesia sleepiness and slight delirium or else you would’ve been a blushing mess as Shoresy dressed you. He was extremely careful, keeping you seated on the bed to put your zip up hoodie on. When it came time for your sweatpants, he gently put each of your legs into the holes and pulled up the pants to your thighs. Only then did he help you stand for the quickest of seconds to pull your pants up all the way and you were sat back down in an instant. When it came time to get transported to Shoresy’s car to go home, he and the other nurse helped you sit into the wheelchair. The nurses gave your paperwork with instructions for at home care to Shoresy who stored it in the bag with the rest of your belongings. The wheelchair ride to the car and the car ride home were filled with silence, mostly because you were falling asleep on and off the entire time. Stealing a glance or two at his open mouthed, slightly snoring passenger, Shoresy would smile to himself.

How did I get so lucky to know someone like them?

Getting you up to your apartment proved not as difficult as you both thought it would be. Shoresy was extremely strong yet inexplicably gentle, both of which proved perfect for this situation. He steadied you as you walked by keeping his right arm snaked around your waist as his left held a tight grip on your left arm. He felt you lean into him and almost snuggle into his beefy frame. Shoresy was surprised but certainly wasn’t mad at this affection. He’d always appreciated your company and your jokes, and your skills on the ice were amazing. Sometimes, though, he’d prefer to see the fingers you held onto the hockey stick with intertwined with his own and he found himself jealous of the beer glasses that were able to feel your lips before he ever could. He never knew if you felt the same but he just hoped that if you saw how good he could take care of you, maybe you could come to like him as more than a friend one day. Lost in his thoughts, he noticed you two were already at your door. He lead you into your bedroom and had you sit on the edge of your bed while he unloaded your things and organized your medicines. You didn’t need to take any yet but you noticed your wound drain was filling up.

“Hey Shore? I gotta empty this drain. Could you help me up please? I know it’s gross so if you could just help me into the bathroom—“

“No way am I letting you do that on your own. I got it.”

You cringed looking at the mix of blood and fluid that accumulated in the drain poking out of your bandages.

“Dude, it’s really nasty.”

Shoresy scoffed, grabbing the small measuring container to dump the contents of your body in.

“There’s nothing in there that’s grosser than a grown man’s adult tooth landing on your cheek while you’re constructing him a new face punch by punch.”

You couldn’t argue with that logic. Shoresy worked fast to limit your discomfort with the drain moving too much. He was kneeling in front of you as you sat on the edge of your bed and you took the time to study the man in front of you. His backwards cap he always wore sat perched on his head. His nimble fingers worked efficiently with the drain and you appreciated that his nails were actually, surprisingly clean. His long eyelashes were so pretty that you could just stare at them all day, as were his eyes that were currently studying you too.

“Whatcha thinking about?” he questioned you. You didn’t know how to answer.

I’m thinking I’ve never wanted to kiss a man more in my entire life than I do right now.

“I’m just thinking I’m grateful for knowing the most caring person to ever grace this Earth.”

As he stood, he let out a short laugh.

“Of course, y/n, I’m here for you no matter what. Always.”

He didn’t mean for the “always” to slip out, but maybe it was for the best. Maybe that one word could convey all the feelings, the unyielding yearning, he felt for you that he didn’t know if he’d ever be brave enough to say out loud. He quickly turned away, before you could see the blush he sported from his face to the tips of his ears, to record how much liquid was in the drain and dump it into the toilet. When he came back into your room, he noticed you had fallen asleep once more. Shoresy gingerly laid a few blankets over your body, hoping to make you as comfortable as possible. He took note of the time, realizing you needed to take some medicine in an hour. Weighing his options, he could either sit in your family room on your couch, where he could potentially miss your waking up if you needed anything, or he could softly sit next to you on your bed so he was there if you needed something. Naturally, he reasoned sitting next to you would be the best option, for your health and well being, of course (he couldn’t find it within himself to leave you alone right now) (you looked way too cute at that moment for someone who just got out of surgery). After he took up the spot next to you, what happened after that, he wasn’t sure. It’s like he wasn’t in control of his own body; there’s no way he’d have the confidence to do this otherwise. As he saw your chest slowly rise up and down in the state of sleep, he leaned over and gave you the softest kiss on your forehead. He didn’t want to risk waking you so his lips barely ghosted your skin, yet he still broke out in goosebumps over the affection. Normally he wasn’t so shy about people he liked, but this was different. You were different. He saw a future with you, one where you could hit the ice and then come home and have ice cream together. One where he could make you laugh and look forward to hearing that sound come from you every day. He wanted to do your laundry, your taxes, make you dinner, make you smile. He wanted to make you his.

“I love you,” he whispered, the sound barely making a dent in the quiet air. Luckily for him, you weren’t totally asleep just yet. You hoped your faking continued to be convincing as you ever so slightly moved your body in closer to his.

We’re definitely having a good conversation about this when I wake up.

#shoresy x reader #letterkenny x reader #shoresy #shoresy x y/n #letterkenny x y/n #shoresy one shot #letterkenny one shot

[phoen1xr0se]

I love reading your fics and I was wondering where you draw your inspiration from? And what kind of fics do you personally like to read? Do you have any favorites? Anything that you don’t like to read at all? ❣️

Hello anon, thanks for the ask!

Honestly I don't know where the inspiration comes from. Don't Fall Away From Me was originally meant to be a cute fluffy Crowley/Muriel friendship story and that... spiralled... 😆

I will say that I do put a lot of myself into the characters, though, which probably makes them more authentic, even if it means they aren't entirely canon. Like, I struggle with selective mutism which comes across in my Muriel and in my Lighthouse Keeper Crowley. I also struggle with self deprecating thoughts which is another theme that runs throughout most of my fics. But most of my inspiration are wild ideas that I try to chase down and form into something vaguely story-shaped, but the characters usually take over and they lead me far more often than I lead them.

In terms of what I like to read, I read everything. There's very little I don't read, from fluff to severe angst, human AU meet cutes to more taboo stuff, I think there's something to be found in almost all kinds of literature, the only thing I look for is that the characters are 3D, developed, complex and layered. Otherwise it just feels like the written equivalent of pushing two Angel and Demon dolls together and getting them to kiss -- I like to be invested, and whether its a fluffy canon piece or a twisted explicit one shot, I need depth.

The only thing I don't read is post S2 fics -- I didn't want to accidentally influence myself whilst writing DFAFM. However, as soon as I'm done writing that, I'm gonna devour them all!! 🙌

My all time favourite fics that scratched my brain in all the right places are The False and the Fair by @princip1914 , Old Vines by @sevdrag , Slow Show by @mia-ugly , oh gosh, so many - here is a list of my bookmarks on AO3, any that have a comment attached are ones I've loved and reviewed, if it hasn't got a comment it means I haven't finished reading it yet.

Always feel free to send me stuff if you think I will enjoy it, some days fanfiction is all that keeps me going!

#good omens #phoenixrose314 #good omens fanfiction #good omens ao3 #ineffable author

[takiisieju-squadra]

Hello! Thank you so much for taking my request for some general romance headcanons with Risotto Nero!

Describing myself I am…

- from the outside very serious and calm, often come across as standoffish. But I interact very friendly and diplomatic with people, never try to hurt someone intentionally, often get perceived as weird by others tho

- at my core very passionate about stuff I care for like my hobbies (drawing, listening to very aggressive and fast music, cosplay and weight lifting) and interests, I am often silly and have a weird kind of humor, also sometimes having minute long bursts of laughter and I like to make people laugh as well.

- open minded, trying to be empathetic towards others to understand them instead of judging, mostly a pretty accepting person when someone’s accepting me like I am.

- needing my space in relationships and like to do things with my partner quietly like just chilling with each other while we both do our stuff simultaneously. Honesty and trust is very important as well as a deep acceptance for the others needs. Pretty self critical and I seek conversation if my partner has problems, I am sensitive to feeling moods as well. I like to compliment my partner and to be supporting if they struggle with something to give some stability for them

Hello, dear anon!

Pleased to please (hopefully).

You and Risotto are two peas in a pod. Both calm and serious, both seemingly cold, but far from rude or mean. Although he is more of a somber and menacing type than weird, he still finds solace in your similarities and more so in your sensitivity and compassion, for understanding and care is not something he sees often.

Your joy brightens his day, so unusual in his surroundings (no, Formaggio’s crude jokes don’t count as joy). Your sincerity and authenticity are what’s most endearing to him. The compliment you’ll hear from him most often is that you are the last real, good, worthy thing in the world. If you try to disagree with that, he won’t argue, but he will make a mental note to tell you that at every single chance.

Your dates are usually exactly what you prefer – just doing your stuff in the same room. He’s there with his laptop that you are strictly prohibited to look at, you’re doing whatever. If you don’t really want or need to do anything else, you can cuddle. Sometimes, however, he comes in just to grab you, lift you up and hold you tightly for minutes, without a word. Only to then lower you, give you a kiss and possibly not even stay for long or at all, muttering something about work as he leaves.

taglist: @go-capt-puppen

#la squadra #jjba #vento aureo #la squadra di esecuzione #la squadra x reader #risotto nero #risotto x reader #matchmaking

[teapartyprincess4two]

https://www.tumblr.com/teapartyprincess4two/746898737584013312/is-it-okay-if-i-rant-on-here-about-something-im

thank you so much! as a latina woman i really fucking hate thinking “i wonder if he likes latinas” or “i wonder if he’ll date me even though im latina.” it makes me so fucking sad because every single man that says they want one, only want the women that are the faces of latina makeup. but when they meet one that isn’t anything like that (which is more accurate) they instantly say “oh she’s loud and obnoxious and crazy.” like this has genuinely happened to me before and it makes me feel like i won’t ever fucking find anyone out there for me :/

Ooooo girl! First, let me preface by saying that I’ve gotten those comments too. I love to talk, I’m very loud, and honestly I’m so unashamed of it.

My best advice is: do not let anyone determine your self worth. Most people are stupid and wouldn’t know something good if it hit them in the face. TRUST ME when I say that you WILL find someone, there is literally billions of people on this planet!!! Your perfect match is out there somewhere!!

And if someone ever finds you “loud and obnoxious and crazy” it’s because they are NOT the person for you. Those people are closed off to the reality of the world. ‘What’s the reality?’ You might ask. WELL, the reality is that everyone is different and we all come with our cultural quirks. If the person you’re dating can’t accept you for who you are, then tell them BITCHES BYEEEE

Another piece of advice: NEVER chase someone. You, my sweet anon, are a beautiful woman who’s meant to be sought after. Be yourself and let the love of your life find you, I know that they’ll fall in love if you’re authentically yourself! Let it all happen naturally and don’t let yourself feel rushed, life has no due dates or set timelines! You have your whole life to fall in love!

I love you bby, thank you for sharing.

#teapartyanons🦢🎀

[judehatesmaths]

Hawks line to Skippy in the hospital about not being sure of anything anymore I think was a pretty good indication about how this will end. That coupled with the confrontation Lucy will have with her daughter in the next episode, and telling her to ask her father, he's clearly going to have to tell his daughter something. He can't go back to the status quo. His old life is not an option anymore. I really kind of love how they have set all this in motion. He's exhausted by his life. It's been strange to me to see all the people who say he looks older than 64 (ignoring the fact that Matt is one of the most beautiful people ever) it surprises me that lots of people seem to have missed that's why he looks older. He lives an entire life in contrast to his true self. He's exhausted by the facade. The wear and tear on his face and in his features is the entire point. He chose a life that suffocated his true self. And it was one thing when he knew Tim was still out there somewhere and there was always the maybe of it all. That disappears with Tim's death. The only part of him that he kept authentic was his love for Tim. What does his life look like in a world with no Tim?

I'm not going to get into the does he or doesn't he love Lucy thing. I believe he loves her in a very particular way, but I would argue his feelings for her always had more to do with his love and admiration of her father, and a sense of obligation to him, than they ever did with her. I do believe he loves his children. But he is a man that is now realizing and coming to terms with the fact that he missed his entire life. What could have been, which he sees very clearly in Marcus and Frankie, if he had been brave enough to fight for it. It's why I genuinely am stunned by the reaction of some people to his character. He is the living embodiment of self hate and that's heartbreaking. The realization that the life he longed for could have been his if he had just tried. The show has done an amazing job of setting up the last episode. Your other anon is correct. They deserve that conversation. Both of them.

Oh anon you're so right!!!

Thats why i dont get people who hate Hawk either!! This man has suffered in silence literally all of his life, has had to hide who he was from literally everyone he cared for. His father hated him for being who he was, his adoptive father figure (senator smith obvs) also hated the concept of what Hawk was (but he didnt know Hawk was it). Like that scene where s. Smith is talking horribly about Leonard and the fact hes gay and Hawk just has to listen and cant say anything bc itd mean his downfall too?? Like that man was everything for Hawk and to have him speak so bad of, without knowing, what he really was mustve been so so so painful.

It would be wonderful for both to just... let themselves love and be loved freely.

I just wanna give Hawk a hug, hes my poor little meow meow (who makes terrible decisions)

#fellow travelers #tim laughlin #hawk fuller #hawk x tim #hawkins fuller #fellow travelers spoilers

[butch-reidentified]

Your lack of self awareness about your own "dysphoria" is causing you to justify an extremely antifeminist industry and those profiting from selling marginalized women self-destruction. You have all the expected comorbidities (OCD/anorexia/body dysmorphia plus unresolved trauma from extreme homophobia) of someone in your position, shared with most female people who seek this surgery, and not someone with an implausible, never validated neurological disorder that coincidentally happens to map precisely onto misogynistic and homophobic ideas of the female body. Your "resolution" of symptoms is dependent on defending your decision and not the actual reality of the results. Your comorbid issues (especially OCD, which your wife is enabling) are obviously still raging through your life no matter what you say. It is a direct insult to every woman who feels violated by what happened to them to claim that not only are you one of the only people on the planet to truly need this surgery but that you read their stories of profoundly woman-hating trauma to convince yourself that you were a uniquely informed and more authentic candidate. P.S. I would "pull up" but I have a job instead of whatever grift you run. Good luck and hope you figure this out before too many other women see you as a role model.

LMAO this is so so amazing thank you. when I tell you this reads like TRA arguments... straight up making things up, projecting, absurdity, and ad hominem bs. delightful!

long post incoming but I am gonna break this down on a micro level bc I haven't talked about these topics in a minute + I'm high and it seems like fun, like a satisfying puzzle, kind of, to break this down into individual parts and address each part. Plus, asks like this provide opportunities to really dive into nuance and detail on several of one's ideas, experiences, and worldviews all in one place, which I've always enjoyed.

I am gonna preface by saying several parts of this are blatantly bad faith, and I am answering more for others to read than for anon. In particular, the claim that I said I am one of the few people who "truly NEED" this surgery. Given you clearly read at least some of my posts on dysphoria, certainly you saw that I repeatedly emphasized that I never have or will view this as a "need." It's also worth noting that most of my posts on this were written quite some time ago, and I don't remember everything I ever wrote on the topic off the top of my head, but I 150% do know myself and what thoughts and feelings I've had and which I've not had on the matter.

ok so first off, I have literally not ever ever even once encouraged anyone to pursue a single elective surgery & have very consistently done the opposite. just because I feel chill about my surgery personally does not mean that I support that industry, actually. in fact, if i knew everything i know about that industry now, I would not get the surgery... but that's a matter of choosing to boycott the industry, not a matter of how i feel personally about my individual experience. how I feel has literally nothing to do with my opinions/beliefs/values. I dont choose how I feel, but I fully choose my moral code.

in fact, my honesty about my story is not supporting that industry in a single way - it simply is not lying. people like you would have me lie to further a narrative rather than be genuine and candid, which puts us on the level with TRAs since that is precisely what they do. it comes down to this: you are asking me to either be silent about (lie by omission) or knowingly misrepresent (outright lie) my experiences because you lack the capacity for nuance to fit them into your narrative without harming the integrity of said narrative. But I don't under any circumstances do that, regardless of whether or not I agree with said narrative (and in this case, I very much do agree). If you cannot work the nuances of my lived experiences into your narrative about gender ideology and transition without it threatening the narrative that's on you; it's entirely possible to do. I'm not going to lie or censor myself just because you're limited in that way.

to be clear, my theory about neurological sex dysphoria is not "implausible;" it is also not something I'm insisting definitely is correct, or I would not call it a theory. And do you even have the qualifications to rule it such, knowing that I am a published neuro/neuropsych researcher (though now retired from that field because I recently found my truest passion)? However, it is not based on absolutely nothing. This answer is already waaay too long, bad habit of mine, but my #ntsd tag includes some posts that elaborate on this. The only thing I am going to specifically say on this matter is that having a processing disconnect (which has literally been visialized on fMRI) that caused my breasts to physically feel like a prosthetic attachment... is not "coincidentally mapping precisely onto misogynistic and homophobic ideas of the female body." This assertion doesn't even make sense in the context of everything I've said previously. I have never believed in the "body mapping" theory of dysphoria that you clearly are referring to by "mapping... onto the female body."

Additionally, I am not sure how you see logic in making this claim when misogynistic ideas of the female body are not known for being devoid of breasts. As I've said in practically every single post on this topic that I've made, I never went through a period of actually wanting to reject womanhood, be perceived socially as not-a-woman, or believing that womanhood and femininity were synonymous. That simply was not my motivation, and as I've said before, pain from chronic cysts was a large part of my decision. Lots of women on here have spoken about how they never went through those period either, yet I'm the only one I've seen get shit for it & get accused of thinking I'm better than other women for it. I never claimed or remotely implied that, and it has never in my life so much as occurred to me as even a hypothetical concept to feel superior about something like that. The only difference between me and most of the women on here who never went through those periods is that I had an elective mastectomy - but I did so while still entirely secure and at peace in my womanhood. Whether you find my truthful experience to be inconvenient or hurtful is entirely on you, not my responsibility to bury my own feelings and my own story for your comfort.

My lack of regret is not remotely "dependent on defending my decision." This is another statement that you would never make in a million years if you'd ever had one single irl conversation with me. I have no hesitation about admitting when I'm wrong. I do it /all/ the time. I don't have a pride issue, so "defending my decisions" is not something that matters to me. Again, you are projecting and you are assigning qualities to me without even the most basic knowledge of me as a person. I have not to date had a single human being on here miss quite this hard in an attempt to come at me. There's a lot about me, like anyone, that's ripe for completely justifiable criticism, and you've somehow managed to select some of the least applicable few assertions about me that you could find. Fact of the matter is I'm not prone to regret in the first place, and even factoring the dysphoria thing out of the conversation entirely, I genuinely like not having the inconvenience of large breasts and not having the pain of constant cysts, which i would still have if I'd gotten a reduction rather than mastectomy.

furthermore, you are making wildly unfounded claims. "lack of self awareness" lmfao this is pure gold. the people that hate me most in the entire world would laugh out loud if you tried to say that about me in front of them. I have plenty of flaws, plenty of areas I need to improve, but self-awareness is not one of those, not something I have ever in my entire life before this ask had a single soul give me constructive feedback about. so that was kinda trippy actually!

I literally do not have a single one of the mental health issues you're claiming I do, nor do I have any unhealed trauma at all (and have not in a long time), as I've spoken about in-depth more than once, especially since my first ever Neuropsych research publication was on PTSD and I previously worked as a trauma therapist for patients with comorbid substance use disorders. I have a number of genetic physical health conditions, but my mental health is honestly excellent. Not to say I've just been totally cheerful my entire life, but at this point in my life, I have been healed long enough that it's almost surreal to look back on a time when I wasn't, and I am deeply happy with my career, my marriage, my relationships with my family and friends, my home and my pets, my hobbies... all of it. And I'm incredibly excited for the plans my wife and I have for our future.

The body dysmorphia claim is especially funny to me because one literally cannot possibly be any more neutral and at ease in their relationship with their body than this. I have said it several times on here, but I place as much value on my appearance now as I did when I was 4. Pretty much the only time I consider my appearance at all is to make sure I look professional and sharp for something like a business meeting. I talk about true body neutrality being attainable fairly often specifically because I've experienced it firsthand, so I know it can be done. I have a strict rule against speaking on shit I don't actually know.

but if you think that by reading my tumblr blog, you know my mind better than I do and better than medical professionals, that's just blatantly delusional and peak chronically online behavior. ESPECIALLY as someone who does not know me in any capacity. the audacity to make claims about not only me but also my WIFE, who you know nearly nothing about and does not even use this site.... it's genuinely mind-boggling for you to be running your mouth about some "lack of self awareness" shit given the content and tone of this ask.

same thing with you deciding you are able to speak for "every woman who feels violated by what happened to them." that is lack of self awareness and it is projection. your assertion that I read those women's painful stories of woman-hating trauma before having my surgery "to convince myself that I was a uniquely informed and more authentic candidate" is SUCH bullshit even you have to know you're lying. that comment is so bad faith it's a bit impressive, but mostly just disgusting on your part. I read detrans stories freely shared by both sexes on public platforms, with the specific intention of canceling my planned surgery the second I encountered one single thing I might have in common with those stories in terms of motivation to get the surgery. There is such a massive difference between trying to learn from others' mistakes and using others' trauma to validate your choices. You are lying if you try to act like I wasn't very clear about which one I did. I waited 5 or 6 years from when I learned that this surgery was even a thing to move forward. I waited until my prefrontal cortex was "done cooking" as the internet likes to say. I pursued multiple other treatment options, not one of which was "gender affirming" bc I did not buy into gender ideology back then, either. And I educated myself on the experiences of those who regretted it with the purpose of minimizing my risk of regret by NOT moving forward if I found that I related to any of the motivations that led them to pursue surgery and ultimately regret it. I was not blindly stubbornly committed to surgery; I was always very much open to canceling if it felt right. Yes, having chosen that process of literally informing myself DID make me uniquely informed... that doesn't mean i'm better than anyone else, though. it's just the reality of putting a half decade of work and analysis and thought into a decision that absolutely nobody pressured me into, compared to the pretty common experience of being misled by trans ideology and/or rushing into this surgery. I am very much aware that I'm not special or superior just because I am flat out lucky enough to have not had anyone trying to manipulate, mislead, rush, or pressure me to get surgery, and insanely lucky to have not had pain or complications from it. And yes, despite my unconventional path to surgery, I also know I am very lucky to not regret it. All the more reasons I don't promote it.

you have constructed an image of me, my wife, and my daily life in your mind based on reading my blog and absolutely nothing more than that. even if you are engaging negatively with that image, criticizing it/me, etc., this is a parasocial engagement by definition.

The above is exactly what you have done. Parasocial interactions don't have to be positive. You are deluding yourself if you truly, genuinely believe you have the remotest understanding of who I am or how I live.

out of curiosity, did you intentionally fail to mention that I had medical reasons for my mastectomy in addition to dysphoria? or did you just conveniently forget about that despite how frequently I've talked about it?

as an afterthought: the implication that unlike you, I don't have a job is fucking golden given that you've clearly been reading a LOT of my posts and I don't believe for one second that you simply missed all the posts where I've talked about the fact that we bought our own home at 24, the fact that my wife and I own our own business, and the extra shit I do just because. but if you like, we can compare our records of how much time per day and week spent on social media 💀

thank you for this ❤️❤️❤️

#mine #ask #anon ask #anon #parasocial relationships #sex dysphoria

[mafaldaknows]

Kylie is actually the anomaly amongst her sisters. She dresses down most often when she isn’t at an event or out for the night.

Hello, Anon:

A person’s attire is the least significant indicator of their character and integrity.

It’s our choices and actions reflecting a genuine interest in the world and the people around us that go beyond our own self-interests that are a much more accurate measure of our character and integrity.

Carrying ourselves with confidence, dignity, authenticity, and honesty, with respect for ourselves and for others, will always be in style. It’s not about the clothes.

Thanks for your comment ☺️👗👔💖✨❣️

#hello anon #it’s business baby #it’s not just clothes but it’s just clothes #character #integrity #dignity #authenticity #honesty #kindness #consideration #elegance #always classy #money doesn’t buy class #the things that matter