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iwaasfairy · 2 years

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┌─ “ ! „ AMBUSH TACTICS

tw. non/dubcon, stepcest, restraints/gags, praise, jealousy, threats of exhibitionism, age difference, arranged marriage, voyeurism, some manipulation wordcount. 7.8k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by the amazing @tink2kagome ♡ thank you thank youuuu a million for commissioning me!!! i said it but i just loved writing my guys again so much, it was so fuuunnnnn and i'm so happy you asked for this plot!! i really hope you like the story and that you love it! ♡♡♡ and ty so much lydz for beta-ing!

iwaizumi x fem!reader x oikawa

It’s a rainy day in August when your old house is pulled down. First the roof, slumped and tiles slid off, or broken, littered in your yard as the crane hooks into the back of it and yanks half of it to the side with the cloud of dust and wood splinters. It doesn’t fly very far because of the rain, instead making a gross, dirty looking sludge at the doorstep. Next are the walls, who pull apart rather easily for a house that stood upright for about 50 years before this. Ripped from the foundation and topped atop the daisies you played in when you were smaller. It doesn’t exactly paint a pretty picture.

But when you look up at your father for support, grabbing his arm with a slow, wobbly lip; he smiles down at you. Brushes a hand along your cheek and runs a comforting hand along your hair. The rain drums down hard around you both, as you look to your other side. To the soft face of the woman who put your father back together with gentle hands. You suppose you like her, and the way she seems to be crafted with finer lines than anything else around you. Flowery and spring like, she seems to stand out against the dim, gray sky and the noise of destruction surrounding you. She glances from her own umbrella to watch you— and flutters from under her own cover to come sit crouched down before you, looking from your father to you with a kind smile.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’ll be okay.” Your -mom now, you suppose- gently runs her thumbs under your eyes and then finds a tissue to press to your nose, giving you the same soft treatment as your father did. “It’s only going to feel strange for a while, but you’ll love your new room! And you’ll love the new garden.” When she nods, you find yourself nodding back, putting on a brave face as you squeeze your dad’s hand a little tighter. As the old house is ripped from its foundations entirely and leaves behind a crumpled mess of building materials that will be cleared out sooner rather than later, you will yourself to agree.

The loud noises of the machine are silenced a bit by the ruckus the hard droplets are making on the taut fabric above your head; as both your parents do their very best to let your child’s tantrum pass by with a good ending. Then your step-mother stands up to let your father wrap his arm around her waist, both of them keeping you close. The dry circle under your feet is crowded, and though the air is chilly, you’re still warm. You look aside to follow the second dry circle up to feet, long legs, a straight posture and all the way to the face of your new brother; whose normally harsh brows are set slightly softer as he takes in the way your eyes and cheeks are a ruddy, shiny mess.

Hajime even does his very best to paint on an encouraging, if barely visible, smile for you, and barely raises his arm to offer you a little wave, like most older siblings placate a fussy child. But for some reason, he doesn’t look nearly as fed up with you as you’ve learned he looks with most things. It’s a sure attempt at being kind to his new kid sister, if nothing else. And you let the visual of that burn into the back of your head, before hiding your face into your father’s pant leg— all the novelties are a bit too much to process in the stickiness of a drowsy summer day.

Your room is the one across Hajime’s room, all the way around the corner at the end of the hall. As it happens, you happen to have similar hours of sleeping and waking— which often leads you to stumble into each other upon first opening your eyes. When you were still little, you’d skitter out of reach before he could so much as apologize, unused to him and the situation. Unused to sharing a house with anyone but your father. And Hajime would creep into the kitchen with the kind of slowness of someone trying not to spook a scared animal— careful to open the cupboards, careful to offer you breakfast.

He couldn’t do much, wasn’t actually that much older than you anyway. But even a couple years seemed like a lifetime of difference when you were small, and teenage Hajime, with all his stubborn but well-meaning attitude, sure as hell could’ve convinced you. Oikawa Tooru on the other hand, not so much. He was better with words than your brother was, but never seemed to use them to bring out anything constructive. You’d find him sprawled out over your couch on the days where their practice ran long, chowing down your mom’s freshly baked goods before anyone else. And you’d glare and stomp your feet from the corner of the room, but never get close enough to say much back.

Oikawa Tooru, for all you knew about it, couldn’t care less what you thought about him in the first place, and you were perfectly fine keeping it that way. It’s one of those evenings when you’re about ready to go to bed that you search for Hajime, and find him walking back from the garden with a familiar red-green-white ball in his practiced hands. That, and then a long whine from your living room. “Iwa-chan~” The lithe, melodic voice of your brother’s best friend fills the hall and you can’t help the pout that slips on.

“Ugh,” Hajime lets out, similarly disgruntled as you are, “I gotta go put the bikes in the garage first.” It’s not really said to you, but you feel the responsibility anyway, and puff your chest out a bit while balling your hands to fists.

“I can go see what he needs,” you’re saying before Hajime nii can ask, and it brings a slight smile to his pretty features, that he tries and miserably fails to school back into neutrality.

The grin that creeps onto his lips under his chuckled breath is automatic. “You do that. And if he gives you a hard time, you just tell him that your big brother will rip him to shreds.” The brunet gives you a little squeeze of encouragement, before walking past you to slip out the screen door and head to the driveway. Your steps are loud when you parade into your own living room and put your hands to your hips. Oikawa’s laying on the couch, long legs peeking over the one end as he’s propped up on one elbow, other hand in the cookie jar without so much as asking.

You’ve always known your mom to have a soft spot for the guy, inviting him in any time of the day for ‘putting up with Hajime’— but you once again have to argue it’s the other way around as he obnoxiously stuffs one of the perfectly-made, crumbling treats into his maw and barely stops chewing to acknowledge you. “‘Sup? You want one?” the honeyed brunet asks, voice easy and fluid as he picks up another and holds it out to you with a raised brow. Your pout grows more pronounced. You made those together with your mom, for your dad and Hajime only. Niichan’s only allowed to have certain amounts of sugar to go with his volleyball career— and here he is eating them all up before you’ve even had the chance to boast to your brother.

You hate him. You cross your arms over your chest as you keep glaring, and Oikawa doesn’t miss a beat when he notices you won’t respond. “Y’know —hm, these are good— I know you’re not technically blood related, but you sure act like your big brother. Same glare when I’m talking. Anyone ever -hm- tell y’that?” He doesn’t stop chewing as he sticks his long fingers into your flower-decorated container again and pulls out one of the almond cookies. You know your expression must sour even further, because finally Oikawa takes the hint and pushes himself up a little on the couch. “What?”

“You’re getting crumbs all over our house,” you settle on saying, frustrated even more at the fact he really isn’t. He’s put down a napkin, with a perfectly neat collection of cookie crumbs in the middle; you can’t help but say it despite that.

“Am not.”

“Are too,” you snap back, and grab your pajama top to fist your hands into the bottom of it.

Oikawa folds one of his long legs to stretch it to his chest, then lays it back over the end of the couch. “You’re mad.” He clicks his tongue, before finally shifting his attention from you to his phone. But even as he picks it up and starts scrolling something or the other, his voice is a soft melody that irks you. “You’re always so mad at me for no reason, imouto.”

“I’m not your imouto.”

“You’re Iwa-chan’s imouto.” He puts the face of his phone down on his chest to give you a dramatic stare, then pulls up his lip. “So it’s basically the same thing. I’ve known you since you were as big as my little toe.” Then he hides his gaze back in his phone to scroll some more, with that annoying ‘pat, pat, pat’ sound that his finger landing on the screen makes. “It’s a shame, because I really like you.” He does that annoying thing where he gives you a guilt-trippy sort of pout that you give little kids when you’re trying to get your way— and you sure are old enough to know you don’t want to even think about letting up now. “I always wanted a little sister. I only have a little nephew though.”

“If you’d have a little sister you’d probably scare her away because you’re so weird,” you end up biting back, walking over to grab the container from his lap and closing it nice and tight as he stares at you with a blank sort of expression. “Made these for my dad and niichan, not you.” If he wants to ask, he keeps quiet, going back to tapping on his phone like it’s something important, and you can’t help but think he’s most likely just annoying Hajime nii’s other friends or the team. You take a seat on the coffee table, guarding the cookies from him, and take a minute to watch the side of his face as he fiddles with the device, like you’re long forgotten.

Hajime nii told you before that Oikawa’s the star setter of the team, a trusted center and main captain. You’ve seen them play here and there, and have heard the whispers that go around. And as much as you’re unwilling to admit it out loud, there’s something -pretty- in his features. How the skin of his cheeks is a little rosy and rounder, how his long lashes angle out to make his eyes look so bright and defined and irises glittering gold under the right light, the set of his lips and jaw making him look always at ease. Even the way his brown hair is a little bouncier and has cute tufts that stick out like little sprouts growing from fresh soil.

You guess older girls than you would know better than you do when they whisper about how cute he is.

You guess your mom is right when she talks about how kind Oikawa Tooru looks, and your father sends you two a little glance with a certain glimmer in his eyes. But you sure as hell won’t admit it to him— and definitely not when niichan’s around.

Eventually your eyes fall to where his white jacket covers his throat, or not anymore, to the blood-speckled purple blotch that sits right on the side of his neck. You frown, and lift your top lip in mock disgust, then you reach a finger out to jab it a little accusatory into the discolored skin. “What’s that?”

“Aw,” Tooru jerks, dropping his phone to the side to scamper away from your touch. Then he looks at you, and lays his cheek to his shoulder to hide the touched area even further, suddenly looking a bit flustered. You’ve never seen him look that way before, so it even surprises you enough to back off for a moment, as Oikawa eyes you down. “Why are you all up in my face all of a sudden? Don’t you know that’s rude?”

You huff, and go to sit cross legged in protest. “I just asked what the hell you did to get hurt on your neck.”

Oikawa is slow to straighten up, and pulls his jacket collar up higher as he rolls his shoulder, then scratches his ear, then looks away entirely. He looks embarrassed, you note with some shock to your status quo. This isn’t how it usually goes. Oikawa, mister better-than-you, doesn’t hesitate or get shy. “It’s a secret. Besides, you don’t need to know because you’re -like, what- ten? ‘S none of your business.” You’re not ten.

“Pff, I already know what it is,” you lie through your teeth, “I’m not stupid.” You toss your hair over your shoulder, and look away too. There’s only so many things that interest Oikawa. One’s volleyball. Another is school. It’s highly unlikely either of those would cause him to throw a fuss. And the last is girls. You’ve only ever seen Hajime react in any similar way when your mom suggests any girl in his vicinity might like him. You take a shot in the dark as you put on a testy grin, and lean in. “It’s because of your girlfriend,” you drag out the word as you watch Oikawa’s cheeks and ears go a little red, his brows angling into a frown.

Hajime chooses that time to come back in, and you look over your shoulder to watch him toss his jacket off onto the back of a chair. “Don’t bully shitty-kawa too much, he’s still sensitive.” He wipes his still-red hands, most likely from practicing, on his pants before ruffling your hair. “The breakup ripped out his poor little heart.” There’s some sympathy on his face, but barely half a second passes before the corners of his lips twitch up, as he looks at his friend and then back at you. Oikawa doesn’t say anything, but goes more red in the face, and you can’t help but stare transfixed as he zips his training jacket up all the way and glares back at your big brother.

“It did not,” he says back in exasperation, before checking a phone notification and this time rolling his eyes.

Hajime crashes down on the other couch, and you grab the box of cookies to take a seat next to him. You’re a little quieter after that, can’t help but watch the infallible Oikawa Tooru actually showing a sign of real emotions. You choose to focus on Hajime instead, and place the remaining box on his lap with a smile. The brunet’s quick to thank you, squeezing your cheek and giving you a soft poke in the side, before sighing. “You should head to bed, or mom and dad will be mad at me.” You try to disagree, but he just grabs your face and angles it towards the kitchen. “Go brush your teeth, go on.”

You don’t like hanging out with them or anything… but you still stomp your feet as you make your way to wash your face as told.

When you come out of your door nowadays though, you’re always expecting to collide with a solid chest at your first step beyond your room. Of course, he doesn’t live here anymore. Moved out when he went to uni, and lived in some far away, hole-in-the-wall flat with two guys who smelled like sweat and weed for most of what you saw from them, for all four years he was getting his degree and leaving you the longing sibling still stuck at home. But you never really grew out of it. When he visits, it’s what you always remember the most.

You’re always expecting to see your big brother first thing when morning comes. Expecting Hajime to wrap an arm around your waist to catch you when you cling to him in full bedhead, no pants fashion; let him guide the both of you down the length of the hall as you take the walk from your rooms to the kitchen as the full minute of extra shut-eye that might get you through the day. And niichan no longer bothers to apologize when he steps on your feet or you both almost trip and fall over anything in your way— him taking the lead, always.

He’s always been more of a morning person, and you sadly can’t resent him for that. His mom chuckles any time he deposits you on the chair by the kitchen island and plops down beside you on his own. “Alright, sunshines, what'd you need?”

“Water.”

“Coffee,” you whine, as your dad enters the room and presses a quick kiss to the top of your head.

The morning’s barely started, or your intuition is on high alert when Hajime clears his voice and casts the man a cursory glance. “Did you guys get to talk to her about what you told me over the weekend?” It’s vague and entirely useless, so it’s instantly suspicious when both parents react with a similarly tight-lipped recollection. Your dad only gives your big brother a little shake of the head, picks up an apple from the fruits on the counter, and walks towards the door.

“Not yet. I figure this is the type of conversation the girls will have on their own time, Haji. And I don’t want to be in the firing line when she freaks out.” He doesn’t react much when you give him a squeaked ‘dad?!’ and gives you three a blown kiss. “Love you guys, I’m off to work!” It doesn’t take you a second after the door closes to glance incredulously at Hajime nii, then at your mom as she keeps her eyes on the pancakes in the pan.

“Mom?” you try, only to get a quick smile over her shoulder. She has the decency to look a little sheepish at least, placing a stack of pancakes on Hajime’s plate and then on yours too. Meanwhile, the spiky haired brunet to your side barely catches your eyes, before starting to eat. And you glare at the side of his face until he gets a little uncomfortable and turns your chair the other way. You don’t like being talked about behind your back. Not even if it’s in good faith, not even if you trust the three of them with your life.

Your mother doesn’t usually gossip like this, so you can’t help but think… Hajime’s still refusing to look at you, choosing to focus all his attention on a spare blueberry. And your mom seems to notice, because as she places your cup of coffee before you, she gives her son a look that you can only describe as —suspicious. He doesn’t speak though, and glaring doesn’t work. You poke and prod at the food in silence for a few minutes before your mom clears her voice.

“Did you hear that the girl who used to babysit you got married?”

You don’t look up, only shake your head in a slow, stubborn acknowledgement of her words. You really didn’t. Yachi was only a few years your senior, but she’d lived close enough to pop by a lot when Hajime couldn’t watch you. You don’t remember the last time you saw her though, so it’s no wonder you didn’t hear about it.

“I was talking about it with Tooru-chan’s mom.” There’s a little pause there, where both people seem to hold their breath, before she continues. “And how she hopes Tooru gets married soon. You know, she even said Tooru has shown interest in getting married sooner rather than later, but because he’s so busy with his career he doesn’t have a lot of time to date. Said something about having his mom arrange a marriage for him,” there’s a soft chuckle from Hajime to your side, but you can’t see the humor in it. Not when your stomach is sinking a little more with each word. “And well, I suggested-”

“Absolutely not,” you pipe up in a quiet voice, now suddenly renewed in your focus to slice your pancake into the most even slices possible. You don’t want either of them to see how flustered the mere idea of the implication has you, stomach rolling around like it’s flung off it’s imaginary hinges.

“Oh, come on, darling. You’ve always gotten along with Tooru since you were little, and your dad and I know you had a little crush—”

“I did not have a crush on Oikawa Tooru,” you stand up from your seat with a loud, scraping sound, mouth dropping open. “I could only stand him because he was Hajime nii’s friend, and- no offense -but I’m pretty fucking sure the guy would sooner marry his own reflection than consider getting married to his best friend’s little sister.” You can’t help but feel a little prideful when that pulls a snort out of Hajime, who’s now slowly taking sips of his glass of water and pretending not to be involved.

He runs a hand along his neck, and gives his mom a long look. “Told you she probably wouldn’t even think about it.” He doesn’t sound nearly as smug as he could, but you still fight the urge to give him a punch in the arm as you walk past him to go breathe some much needed fresh air.

You can hear him follow a few steps behind while you walk out the back door and drop down into a squat onto the grass to start stress-picking at little blue flowers that pop up among the greenery. Hajime has enough common sense to let you be though, sitting down far enough away not to be a bother, until you choose to turn to him. “And what about you?!” Your voice lilts up so much it ends in a pinched whisper more than the angry tone you start with. “You even so much as entertained the idea of me marrying your best friend? That’s weird—”

“You’re being dramatic,” your niichan says, and picks one of the flowers from your fingers, “Tooru really likes you. And I don’t care about that possessive bullshit, if anything it’s good.” It’s stupid- and your stupid brain is a traitor for even popping the image in your head for a second. But you can’t help but think it’s totally weird that he’s so on board with it. You want to shake him for selling you out, want to — ask him to keep you close and not let go a little longer. You know it’s selfish, but somewhere within you, you had hoped that you and Hajime nii had more time together. Knowing Tooru is of marrying age, means thinking about the prospect of the brunet before you being of marrying age too, and…

You decide to ignore that thought as it comes to you, eyes flicking away to the house the two of you no longer share. “I want you to be with someone who I know has the best intentions at heart,” Hajime’s low voice really goes in one ear and out the other, “and like it or not, Oikawa does have that much.” Then the softer tone in his voice comes, the one you ever really hear him use when he’s with you; he grabs your hand to demand your attention. “And Tooru’s successful. He’s smart, he’s got the funds to provide for you. You don't want to think about that stuff because you’re young, but I think you’ll appreciate it when you’re our age.” It’s all things you know, and you trust Hajime implicitly.

“It doesn’t matter, because Oikawa’s never going to want to marry me. The guy can barely stand me.”

“You’re an idiot,” your brother chastises out of nowhere, pulling your hand to yank you within his reach and tossle you to the ground. You try and fail to wrestle out of his grip when he uses his weight to pin you down like you used to do when you were much, much younger. It was never a fair fight, but nothing compares to the way your big brother has long since traded his leaner muscle for built tissue, and physical fitness to rival any Olympic athlete. “You’re fucking beautiful, y’know that? He’d be lucky.” And though you send Hajime the nastiest glare you can muster when he crosses his arms over his wide chest and stares you down like he’s watching a glacier melt, you can feel honest to god heat rush to your cheeks.

With more than a decade that passed since you first had to deal with the guy, there’s bound to be changes. But it shocks you a little just how obvious it is now you’re looking out for it. Oikawa was always handsome, much to your dismay for many years of your childhood, but it’s different now he’s… a man. Taller, more toned, with a distinct tan from the Argentinian sun and lighter hair, he looks more like a second Adonis than the guy who used to get under your skin— and when his eyes meet yours with much less of that bravado and much more genuine confidence, you’re lost.

You saw the guy last year for Christmas. Your mom made you chaperone Takeru’s 17th birthday party, and Oikawa popped by in full glory. But it felt different.

You unhook your arms from the bar behind you when Oikawa comes over to wrap an arm around your back and presses a kiss to either cheek, before smiling. Full and perfect and— fuck. “Hey, birthday boy,” you manage to say, ignoring the way the absence of his hands starts feeling cold too soon.

“Birthday man now,” he grins with the words, and props one elbow onto the bar to support his head with his hand. Even this way he towers over you, and you can’t quite bear to look at him. “I think the boy-to-man cutoff is 28.” You can’t help but snort, and look up at him. He’s — so much more than he was. Much more everything. You fluster when he’s already looking at you though, pretty eyes scanning your face. You end up searching the room for Hajime to avoid looking awkward, and fiddle with your smirnoff glass. Your big brother’s talking to Tooru’s mother, and laughing, and only catches your eyes for a split second to spy ever so subtly on you both.

You know he is, because you’ve seen your mom give the same kind of looks. Everyone is smitten with the brunet by your side, and for once you can’t even blame them. He’s electric. You find yourself wound up and spun on your axes, without him even having to do a single thing. After a few moments of silence, he bumps your hip with his, sides basically touching. “So how have you been?” Not a second of pause and he smiles wider, “you still hate me?”

“I never hated you.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“You thought about it,” he chuckles, and even harder when you bite your lip to avoid having to speak. He quiets a little then, and leans close enough for you to feel like you’re drowning in his smell. “You look really good. Been thinking it all night, if I’m being honest.” It sets off fireworks in your veins when his lashes frame his eyes darker, entirely focused on you.

“If I didn’t know any better, Oikawa, I’d have to start believing what I heard.”

A smile tugs at one side of his mouth. “Which is?”

“You’re looking to settle.”

You’re flirting back— you know you are because your body’s curving to get closer to his touch, to the hand that lands on the small of your back; you just can’t believe it yourself. But then he brushes some hair away from your face and lets his eyes flick all over your expression, pulls his lip between his teeth. His mouth moves closer to your ear, and you feel like you’re soaring and dying all at once. “Darling, being with you wouldn’t be settling for anything.” Whatever spell he put on his voice is working, and when he pulls back you’re basically mouth to mouth.

“You’re a tease.”

“You like it,” he pops the ‘t’ before dipping down and laying a kiss onto your lips, so soft and sweet you melt in his hands. He’s pulling away before you even get a chance to savor it, and you let out a whine. Something that makes him laugh. “You gotta wait, we’re in public.” Public. You come back to your body, back to the room with all of your relatives— as you start burning with shame. You give him a punch to his pec, that he mocks hisses at, before grinning. “Desert should be out soon. We’ll have some time to sneak off then.”

It’s entirely inappropriate, you kissing your brother’s best friend, let alone -sneaking out of the room- and yet; you’re nodding at him, resolutely. Your stomach flips, and you have to keep yourself from rubbing your thighs together. And Oikawa basically glows when he notices, because he can’t resist sneaking two hands behind your back to grab your ass and pull you up against his chest, nosing at your jaw. “You’re- so fucking cute.”

You fight to get back to the floor because of where you are and because your dress is riding up, wobble onto your heels with a little pant, but still your heart’s pounding. Fuck, you must be losing it. You want that. You want that? Your skin tingles when he winks and walks away, picking up one of the champagne flutes from the bar to look back at you, and let his tongue peek out the side of his mouth. And you’re trying to catch your breath when you find Hajime between the people, green eyes beaming into you from across the room. You can’t read his expression but whatever he’s feeling, he’s no less obvious when he pulls a finger under his collar like it’s too tight, and runs his eyes down your body just once. In judgment, you can only assume.

So you’re not sure why his face is so pink, ears and cheeks both.

You should be embarrassed at how loud and desperate you’re being clinging to Tooru’s neck, letting him suck marks into the side of your neck for people to gawk at. He’s sweaty, and so hot, and so are you— pressed between his chest and the wall with your legs hooked over his arms. He pants against your collarbones once, twice, and breathes your name so lovingly into your skin. You don’t know what happened, you’re lost. One second you were laughing as you snuck out the room with Tooru giggling into your shoulder, and now you’re here, biting your lip so hard you pull blood.

“Oh, holy— fuck, Tooru. Tooru, Tooru,” you mewl, and he nods before taking a nipple into his mouth. You should think before you act. But you can’t, throwing your head back and moaning out his name as his cock slides in and out of you with a mind-numbing, rhythmic motion that only drives your brain further from the present.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he promises, and fucks like he’s never going to stop. Never going to let you walk on your own legs again, so solid as he drives your walls open and fucks you onto him. You’re bounced like it’s easy, and he straightens up to kiss you hard. “Feels good, huh? This tight, little pussy feels so fucking good too. So warm ‘n wet, all for me, yeah?” He hikes you a little higher, then kisses along your throat as you run your fingers through his hair and tug. He moans, but continues without pause, like fucking you was what he was meant to do all along.

“All mine, good fucking girl. So needy.” It’s kinda scary how fucking good his fat cock feels sliding in and out your clenching cunt. How embarrassingly messy you’ve gotten for him. “Or are you thinking of — someone else, ‘s that why?” You clench around him before shaking your head side to side, and swallow down a moan when he fucks right into that spot that makes you gush. He doesn’t pause to let you think about anything, pulling your head back to suck more marks into your neck, whimpering against his solid body and shoulders; but if you had thought about it for longer, maybe you could’ve figured something out.

Your wedding is more lowkey than you expected Oikawa Tooru to agree with, though you’re more than glad about it. You also realize that day that you should stop calling him by his full name, considering you’re an Oikawa too, now. The entire room is filled with only some family and friends, his old highschool friends and some of his newer team mates; your three closest uni classmates also in attendance. And your rock in the very front, Hajime nii smiling so full and wide it pulls his eyes into little moons. It’s entirely intoxicating, and so is Tooru when he shines so bright the sun in the sky can’t match.

When the night comes to a close, slowly, long hours later— Tooru carries you over the step of the door with all the excess dramatics you did expect from him. Only, you’re happy right now, laughing against his neck at every breathed well wish, every praise, and each time he tells you how fucking pretty his new wife is. You’d be lying if you didn't admit to it feeling damn good. When he swears you’re glowing, you’re inclined to believe it. He closes the door behind you two, and loosens the pretty, silk tie from around his neck as he watches you slowly shuffle back a bit towards the bed. His lips pull into a smile, before he hums, “I’ll come join you in a second, cutie.”

You kick your shoes off, and hum, and choose to start taking off your very expensive dress on your own. You know Tooru wouldn’t care about ripping it open, but you sure do. His steps go around the room, before he disappears into the bathroom, you think. You could use a freshen up too, honestly. The long, laced up back of your dress is barely undone before a soft knock comes from the door, and you look up, bristling at the sound. But Tooru’s nowhere to be seen —did he go out into the hall?— you keep the front of your dress to your chest with one hand while slowly sliding open the lock with the other.

“Why’d you—” You take a step back automatically, and look up with wide eyes. Hajime’s a little flushed when he steps through the door and pushes it closed, like he’s been running. You fluster under the flicking of his green eyes all over you, and down you. “Niichan, what are you doing here? Did you need something?” Hajime’s always been the quieter type. When he wasn’t around Oikawa to drive him to his extremes, he’d only ever speak when it was important. When his words would be an addition to the conversation, it made it feel like it was always important to listen.

But as he reaches out and brushes his fingers along your cheek and under your jaw- letting the silence hang as goosebumps build on your skin, you really wish he’d just talk. “Hajime nii, I’m kinda- in the middle of something.” You motion your eyes down to show your state of undress, barely kept up when he crowd you a little more, and you squeak. “Niichan, you have to leave. It’s- my wedding night.”

“And I’ll let you enjoy it,” Hajime says, though his eyes shine with a determination that doesn’t let you believe it for a second. But his hand doesn’t move when it drops to your shoulder, thumb brushing along the soft of your throat; making your heartbeat race wildly against him. The bathroom door clicks open to show you your husband without a shirt, who only stares for a split second before Hajime glares at him. “You had sex with my sister at your birthday party,” the darker brunet hisses, and Tooru smiles.

“It was my birthday, Iwa-chan, I got excited.”

You’re stuck glancing between the two of them with your hands a little shaky, a mix of the nerves of the day and of this situation collecting. Did Hajime really come in here to chastise you about your personal matters? You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, before you’re pushing his hand off your shoulder and trying to lead him back out the way he came. “Hajime nii, if that’s how you’re going to be, you need to leave—”

He grabs your one wrist and then your other, and clicks his tongue when you struggle against him. “Shh, calm down,” he looks down at you then, holding your arms wide enough apart for him to fit right up against you, muscular body keeping you right in place. Faces hovering with only a few inches between. If you were hot before, you’re absolutely burning when you feel your dress slowly start to slip down by gravity, and bucking against Hajime only makes it worse. But he’s too busy looking at you to notice, or care. “I’m not gonna cause trouble.”

You feel two large hands land on your shoulders then, Oikawa coming up behind you to lean down closer towards you, and make the jitters even worse. What is happening? “Iwa-chan’s just a little jealous and upset that I fucked you when I did.” His hand wraps around your neck and squeezes a little, only to start stripping you of your dress with slow, deft hands. “He wanted to go first, and I messed that up for him. Isn’t that right, Iwa-chan?”

“You’re an ass.”

Whatever thoughts were building in your head fall completely silent when you stare up at Hajime in complete and utter confusion. But he doesn’t make any attempt to deny it, or tell Tooru how wrong he is, how wrong any of this is— that he doesn’t see you like that, you’re his little sister. Tears start welling up in your wide eyes before you can even open your mouth to make good on the many accusations that roam through your skull, and all that you can manage is a soft, “Haji?”

“Aw, you’re breaking the poor girl’s heart, Iwa. Come on, out with the confession. She’s clearly waiting to hear it.” The happy-go-lucky, lithe voice of your fresh, new husband does absolutely nothing to soothe your nerves, instead spiking them even higher. And you want to understand, you do, but nothing makes sense anymore. Like you’ve been dropped into a free fall with no end. As your big brother clears his throat, Oikawa’s quick to kiss along the column of your neck, letting his hands slowly trail down your sides to push the white fabric down more and more.

Hajime swallows, eyes avoidant. “Listen, I know,” he stops to let his eyes drop down to your new exposed bra, to Tooru’s hands going even lower than that, and locks his jaw with a glare, “stop that, I can’t concentrate.” The little chuckle Tooru lets out against your shoulder washes over you. And your brother takes a long look at you, all of you, before leaning down to - kiss you. Hajime kisses you needy and long, pushing past your lips with his tongue like it’s normal. Like it’s okay. You start struggling against him again, both of them, but go nowhere. When he pulls back there’s an unfair sort of softness mixed in with lust, forced down your throat.

“I don’t look at you as just a sister,” Hajime whispers, “not anymore. I want to be with you- and- and I knew that wouldn’t happen- couldn’t.” He’s panting like you somehow bewitched him, green eyes searching yours for any sign of agreement. “And I know you feel it too.” You want to fight, and scream at him to get the hell out, but— you love him too much to do that. Instead you’re forced to hang off his every word while Tooru keeps himself busy by getting your one leg out from the dress before the other. “And when Oikawa suggested he marry you, I…”

There’s a pounding, white noise in your head that only grows louder when he kisses you again, and claims your lips with a hungry groan. “I want you so fucking bad, so fucking bad.” You can’t do anything but shake your head side to side, and try to pull away from him.

“You’re insane. Both of you!” Though they’ve rendered you in your underwear by now, and you can tell what’s most likely going to go down— you still start struggling as hard as you can against the two of them, and push at Hajime’s hands until he has to wrap his arm around your torso instead. “Let me go! Let me go, I want out of here. Fucking, let me go!” Your voice breaks, and Hajime clings harder to you, keeping your feet from the floor as he walks you two to the bed. You try to kick and buck, but it doesn’t move him.

“If you’re going to keep shouting I’ll stuff something in your mouth to shut you up,” he says as he presses you down on the plush covers, keeping you in place by pinning you under his wait. “You want that?”

“Get off of me, you’re crazy! You’re my brother! My brother!” Then you glance at your husband, and sneer at him too. “How can you go along with this?! You two are— you’re the w-worst, god— niichan, get off of me! Off! Now!”

“I love how fucking fiesty you are,” Oikawa chuckles from the end of the bed, wrapping those long fingers around your ankle to pull. “But we should probably shut her up, Iwa-chan. Can’t have security burst in here.”

“I know,” Hajime sighs, and gives you another look, and then places his palm over your mouth before you can start begging. Your tears well up harder, and run down your temples. ‘Wait, no,’ you’re mumbling against his palm, but it’s too late. As soon as he takes his hand off a piece of fabric is shoved in, and his tie used as a makeshift gag. “It’s going to be okay, just calm down. We’ll take it out when you’re calm,” your brother promises, and gives you a soft kiss to your forehead that you want to hate so much. But you can’t, it still has that same soft feeling as before.

Your pretty brunet husband is quick to secure your ankles to the railing of the bed, a bit too tight to be comfortable. But he smiles, and comes to sit on the bed next to you to wipe the tears from your eyes too. “As for me, I really do like you. A lot. So you don’t have to feel too betrayed. I’m just helping out a friend, you get it. Pay it forward- kind of thing?”

Hajime glances at your feet, before placing a hand on your stomach to rub comforting circles into your skin, then raises a brow. “Her panties?” Tooru is a bit too smug when prodding under the fabric with those long fingers of his, and lets the elastic snap back against your skin with a little smile.

“We can take easy care of that.” He gives you a stare that makes your blood feel hot, picking at the little bow and pulling the lacy fabric. “My little wife. I love that title for you, cutie.”

“Don’t push it,” Hajime grunts, before Tooru pulls so hard the fabric gives and tears apart at the sides, leaving you bare. And both men get clearly more pent up when Tooru runs a finger down your slicking cunt, up and down to drive you crazy. “Me first,” Hajime’s quick to say, and Tooru only laughs at the possessiveness your brother shows at the mere thought. You’re still sniffling around the gag though, spit soaking the fabric as you watch how they exchange places and Oikawa makes quick work of your lacy bra too.

Your brother is transfixed, and you both want to glare at him and look away as he spits on his fingers and rubs two fingers up and down your glistening bottom lips, dipping into your hole only to pull back. “Fuck, you’re wet. You’re really wet,” he chants, first to himself, then looking up at you and the way you’re burning through your own skin from embarrassment. “Knew you wanted it too, I just— you could’ve just asked. We wouldn’t even need shitty-kawa to be here.”

“Don’t be rude,” Oikawa breathes back, and dips his face to your neck and hands to your tits to knead them, play with your nipples, and suck them into his mouth to be abused by his tongue. “Get to it already, before you cum in your pants.” The insult is barely given any notice when you moan around your gag, Tooru’s quick fingers rubbing and pulling at your pebbled nubs just right. Hajime moans lowly, and then grabs himself through his pants. Everything after that happens quickly. His shirt and pants go, and Tooru’s tuxedo is shed to the ground without a second thought, all the while keeping your body busy with greedy touches.

It feels so good, that by the time Hajime’s pulling out his cock and shoving his boxers down his thick thighs, you’re squirming in anticipation, cunt dripping down onto the perfect, white sheets below. Your brother’s cock is very hard, and so is your husband as he shoves his hand inside his own and lets out a long moan when grabbing himself. “Oh, fuck, you’re so cute when you glare at me like that. Makes me want to fuck that attitude out of you,” he gets closer to your face, and pushes the fabric down to push his hard, flushed cock and slap it against your lips. “If I take this out you’ll be good for us, won’t you?”

Hajime’s fisting his cock and wrapping a ring of fingers around the head to fuck in and out of for a few, before throwing his head back. “No, I can’t wait. Fuck her face later. You’ve got all the time.”

The soft, melodic chuckle Tooru lets out fills the room as he watches Hajime line up with your clenching, needy pussy to hum. “Well, so do you. You’re welcome, by the way.” Though the darker brunet makes a face, he grips your hips tighter, and pushes in without thinking twice. The feeling of him spreading you open is too much, you’re tearing up again. You mumble his name around the gag, and choke a little as he pushes in so much deeper than you were expecting. But it feels good. So good.

Tooru pulls out the gag to instead replace it with his fingers, and beams down at you. “Our little wife, look at you. Open wide, baby.”

#iwa x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #iwa smt #oikawa smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x reader #tw.noncon #tw.stepcest #tw.dark content #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.iwaizumi #💫ch.oikawa

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bontenten · 1 year

Text

good girl

Pairing: Itoshi Sae x f!reader WC: 2k Tags/Warning: eating disorders, throw-up, yandere, manipulation, body-shaming, degradation, humiliation, drugs, pregnancy mention, eating disorders

a/n: read the tags, not my problem otherwise. :looksaway: anyways, fun fact, football/soccer is so insanely popular on instagram. ronaldo is the most followed account with 579M (the only individual to pass 500M, the other is the ig account), closely followed by messi with 457M. 2 football clubs and 2 other football athletes-ish are also on the top 50 list. i was genuinely amazed?

Happiness is sharing that meal with the man you love the most, global football star, Itoshi Sae. After so many years of hard work, Sae is finally the star mid-fielder for FC Barcha. He has so many commercial gigs, sponsorships, and invitations to special events and dinners. With Sae, you have tasted things beyond your wildest dreams. You cannot imagine a better version of your life than the one right now, next to him.

It's glamor and perfection for a little while. One day, the news headline flashes "Itoshi Rin: Star Striker of Bastard München". That day, you see a new, unfamiliar expression on Sae's face. You don't have a word for it, but you can describe it as a peculiar mix of pride and disgust. But he's the only one you'll ever look at. The best in the world, to you forever. You think it's enough.

Rin's debut in the global football scene is hailed as the birth of a genius and superstar. The same talk shows, magazines, and brands suddenly flock over to the younger Itoshi. And for the first time, since Sae has joined FC Barcha, the team walks away from the World Cup, defeated. The journalists sensationalized the entire match. The most circulated photo is none other than Rin mid-air about to send the final point into the goal.

A week later, Itoshi Sae is no longer the most followed individual on Instagram. He's overtaken by Itoshi Rin, with over 600 million followers in a feat that has only been achieved by the platform's own page. Sae never seemed to care about details like that, since he rarely ever posts to his page. It's usually managed by a special team instead. But you find Sae looking at Rin's page, focused on a photo of Rin and a gorgeous woman pressed tightly to him, a popular gravure idol now better known as Rin's girlfriend. You will never forget the scrutinizing look he gives you that evening.

The comments about your body and eating habits started crawling in. You don't realize it at first, thinking that of course, Sae would know more about gastronomy than you. He's been to so many more places than you and seen so many things. He's always careful with his food too, as an athlete.

You kiss him back, eagerly guiding his hand toward the waistline of your panties. Sae rests his hands on your hip and stops.

"You've put on weight," he comments bluntly.

You're a bit confused and still a bit excited.

"M-Maybe. I'm getting my period soon, so I might be a bit bloated," you stammered. Seeing Sae's uninterested expression, you cross your arms to hide your body. "I'll run sometime this week, all good."

Sae ignores your suggestion and leans back against the headboard. "Did you take the tablets I got for you?"

You think back to the large capsules in the jar that you're supposed to take twice a day. "Oh, I forgot. I'll just take it tomorrow," you tell him, not wanting to travel all the way downstairs so late at night.

Sae groans and gets up. A moment later he returns with a glass of water. "Here, I went to get it for you. You have to take it on time every day."

He offers you three pills in his palm and you take one, except he gestures for you to take more.

You look at him cautiously. "I think...I'm only supposed to take one."

A loud sigh escapes him. "But you keep forgetting, so just in case. It's fine. You won't overdose. They're like vitamins."

"Okay." You swallow pill after pill after pill.

Sae smiles and presses a kiss on your forehead. "Good girl, let's go to bed now."

A month after taking those pills, you notice your tastebuds drastically changing. Everything you eat tastes like ashes. For most meals, you try to swallow a few bites, but they go down like sandpaper. And then everything is heaved out not too long afterward.

Sae is with you each time, giving you encouragement and comforting you. He gives you water to rinse out your mouth. He tells you that you feel better now that extra waste is cleared. It's funny that the first time you threw up, you thought you were pregnant. And had the same thought the second time your period was late.

Your period isn't late. It's just gone.

Your wardrobe also transforms. Sae brings back so many gifts often, filling your closet with designer outfits. You recognize a couple of the brands. You've seen the photoshoots of Rin and his girlfriend. He asks you if you want to try them on. You should have realized that Sae doesn't spend his time playing dress-up with you.

"Do they have another size, Sae?" you ask nervously, trying to suck in your core as tight as possible.

You see him wrap his arms around you in the mirror, face resting in the crook of your neck. He shakes his head. "I can't take back something I bought already. Do you still like the styles?"

You give him a weak smile and concede. "Yea, they're pretty."

"Good. You look good in them," Sae whispers low in your ears. "Just have to lose a bit more. One day you'll fit them just perfectly."

Sae tells you how important it is to have a goal in mind and always focus on the big picture. And that he'll help you. Always.

More weeks pass by. You can't sleep at night anymore. Your feet are just always so cold, nothing you wear or do can warm it up at all. And you're so hungry, your sense of smell is so heightened that the air is palpable. The faintest trace of something has your mouth watering. After checking that the man next to you is sleeping soundly, you carefully tip-toe down the hall, avoiding the floorboard spots that will creak. It's a laborious feat when you also have a sprained ankle.

In the darkness of 3 A.M., you find heaven and bliss. You grab at the frozen foods but pause at the thought of turning on the stove or oven. Sae will wake up. You spot a single ice cream popsicle left in the box. It's from the last time Rin visited. Expired, but it'll do. Sae won't pay attention to it. It won't hurt. You rip off the packaging savoringly the sweetness and cold tingles that seem to bring life back into your body. For the first time, something doesn't taste like chalk. Stay quiet, Sae will wake up.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Your eyes flick toward the direction of the voice where a dark figure is leaning against the wall. Sae is up. Each step adds to the lump in your throat. The ghostly fridge light illuminates part of him gradually until the displeasure that's written across his face is revealed. Tears began to prickle in your eyes and stream down.

"S-Sae, I'm—I'm so hungry," you sobbed, curling into a ball. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Shhh," Sae coos, using his thumb to swipe your tear away. You're still apologizing between each breath when he wipes the edges of your mouth that are smeared with ice cream. "I know, baby, I know. I know it's hard."

Sae never raises his voice at you. He's always so gentle and extra affectionate in moments of your vulnerability. He reaches for the ice cream pop you're gripping in your hand and takes it from your grasp. He licks the melting trail and finishes the treat in a couple of bites. You don't dare to look at the wooden stick that is the reminder of your late-night exploit. You wish you ate a bit faster.

Sae crouches to your level and waves the little stick in front of your face. "You're not a child. Snooping around late at night for things you know you're not supposed to eat? It's bad for you. Sweets have to be earned."

"Yes, I know," you whisper, ashamed, eyes fixated on the square tiled floors.You hear fabric rustling and soon bright light shines in your eyes. You see the latest picture of Rin and his girlfriend at the beach.

"It's tough love, but take a good look at her." Sae scrolls through a couple of their latest photos. "Look how skinny and sexy she is. See that collarbone? You can drink out of that. Now look at you."

His comments shatter you and you begin to sob. He stands up and continues, "If I wanted just any slutty bitch, I would have ten in my arms right now."

You know he is right. Women fawn over him whenever the two of you go out. At events or just on the streets. Even without his reputation as a football icon, Sae is a gorgeous man.

You don't have anything left after meeting Sae. Your family and friends are left behind. Your schooling and your job are all set aside. If he doesn't want you anymore, what are you even worth? You panic. "I know Sae. I'm sorry, I'll do better. I swear."

You really mean it, truly. You feel terrible.

Sae’s voice softens. "You know why I still choose you out of all of the girls?"

You shake your head.

"Look at me."

You don't move.

"Look at me, baby."

He lifts your chin and your eyes fix on him. His teal eyes seem to glow.

"Because you're a good girl," he says firmly. So assured like it's the most obvious truth in the world. "You're a good girl, yes?"

You nod shakily.

"You have to look good, so I also look good, understand? Say something."

You nod again, biting back the tears that are trying to spill. But you manage to choke out a quiet 'yes'.

"When I'm good, we're," he gestures at the space between the two of you, "good. So, don't ruin this for us."

He hands you the popsicle stick. "If you make a mistake, you have to fix it. Then you have to learn from it. It's the same thing as football. I know it's hard, but I also know you can do it. Prove me right."

You crawl up to your feet and prepare to make your way to the bathroom. Except Sae stops you. "Do it here. You made your mistake here."

You take a deep breath and open your mouth. You take two fingers and try to reach the back of your throat. It's the first time you try to induce your gag reflex by yourself. Usually, you just throw up on time or Sae helps. You look towards Sae. He motions at the popsicle stick. So, you try again. This time, the birchwood presses on your tongue.

"That's it," he encourages, "keep going."

You feel the lurch. It comes in dry, just a wave of nausea. You stick the stick a bit deeper in your throat. This time the reaction is a bit more visceral. A few violent gurgles later, acidic cream spills out and splatters onto the floor. You hurl a few more times, just pure bile and some unidentifiable remnants of something. Tears blur your vision and the inside of your nostrils burn.

"Now clean it up and think about what you did wrong."

You scramble up and limp over to kitchen towels to wipe up your mess.

"I...shouldn't have snuck out at night to...eat ice cream," you confess out loud. "I shouldn't have...eaten..."

"Good job," Sae compliments you, taking the soiled towels from you to throw away and handing you a glass of water and a capsule. "Now you'll never forget. Lessons are only useful if you'll get something out of them. I can see the change in you already."

This is the warm Sae that you love. His smile brings so much joy to you, especially when he is smiling because of you. You sip on the water, expertly swallowing the pill, and nod eagerly. "I'll lose more, Sae. I'll look pretty for you."

Sae smiles and pokes your cheeks. "That's my girl. It's for your own good too, you'll look very pretty when you can fit in the dresses I buy for you."

You bury the thoughts about the sharp pain in your chest and dull ache in your ankles. All that matter is Sae and his love for you. You can lose everything and anything but that.

#yandere blue lock #yandere sae #yandere blue lock x reader #yandere sae x reader #tw drugs #tw eating disorders #emi.freshtea #🍵.sae #tw yandere

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ontheshroom · 1 year

Text

Let’s talk business.

Ceo!Jack Harlow x fem!reader

Smut, contains female receiving oral.

Exclaimer: I don’t know shit about businesses.

Synopsis: Jack has a hard time dealing with an ex business partner and needs you as a stress reliever.

******************************

“I’m not interested in that offer.” Jack shakes his head.

“We can only go up 5%!” The man argues.

“Your numbers tripled with the state of this economy, then they fell, and now they’re back up. You’re telling me the best offer for your business’ security is 5%?” Jack asks, ready to drop the whole business ordeal. He’s sure his lawyer made enough loopholes to spin anyone’s head who tried to fight off the drop.

“L-look. We could do 15%, but that’s it.” The man argues.

“How did you go from the highest being 5 to 15? I don’t want to play games with you.” Jack sighs, leaning over his desk dominantly.

You walk into the office wearing your usual skirt and blouse outfit. You walk up to Jack’s desk, feeling eyes burning into the back of you.

“Do you like what you see?” Jack asks as you grab a stack of papers off of his desk.

You look up thinking he’s talking to you, but notice he’s only staring at the man.

The man utters indecipherable words.

“This is y/n, she’s my assistant,” Jack says, pulling your arm so you’re standing next to him.

“Y/n, Gary here shot me an offer for an increase of 5% of his business, now please remind me, baby. Do we do anything less than 35% at the lowest?” He asks you.

“No, sir.” You shake your head.

“Now, y/n here is smart. I mean smarter than every incompetent person you have working for you.” Jack says, looking at the man.

He hands you a folder, that contains the latest business details of the man, Gary, in front of you.

“It looks like your business alone had made more than 8 million in six months since your business decline. I don’t see what else you’d be doing besides investing money at 50% considering you’d be able to double it in a year?” You ask him.

“You wanna know why, doll? Cause he’s trying to lowball me.” Jack says, lighting a cigar.

“I think it’s best we cut all ties. When your business fails, which it will. It will fall so hard to the ground It’ll send an earthquake to all of your competitors who will be making more money than your in debt ass to come to invest in Harlow Enterprise.” Jack says, closing the folder and handing it back to the man.

“You can’t back out yet! I’ll sue you.” The man argues.

“So do it. Just know when I fight back, I’ll take everything and 100% of your business.” Jack says, shooing the man out of his office.

“That was a lot of circle running,” Jack says to you, rubbing his hands down his face.

“Want me to make it better?” You ask with a smile.

“Yes.”

You begin to drop to your knees but are stopped by Jack’s hand grabbing your arm.

“I want you laying on my desk with your legs spread.” He says.

“I th-“

“Don’t argue with me Mrs. y/l/n.”

You nod and sit down on his desk with your legs spread, your cunt already glistening. You haven’t worn underwear to the office since you started seeing Jack. There would be no real purpose to them besides them getting in the way.

Jack hums in approval before licking a strip up your cunt. Swirling his tongue perfectly in your entrance before trailing up to your clit. His tongue flicks up and down as he sucks, making it impossible for you to hide your whines of pleasure.

Two of his fingers slip into you and curl hitting your g-spot.

“God, Jack.” You throw your head back.

His pace quickens as he sucks harsher, sending your head above the clouds. You squirm under his hold as you feel yourself reaching the cusp of your orgasm. Your gut tightens as you cum, squeezing his head with your thighs. A loud moan of his name leaves your lips.

“Much better.” He says, pulling back with glossy lips.

You nod in agreement, leaning down and kissing him.

#jack harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow smut #jack harlow angst #jack harlow fic #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow concepts #dad!jack #jack harlow dialogue #ceo!jack

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bisexualseraphim · 2 months

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I gotta say, I am seriously fucking concerned with the amount of people here who seem to wholeheartedly believe that the correct answer to the genocide against Palestine is ANOTHER genocide except the other way around. Please stand back for 2 minutes and seriously think about whether you think it’s ever a helpful or just cause to advocate for the deaths of millions of people, especially when plenty of said people are Jews whose families fled there after barely surviving the Holocaust because hardly anywhere else would treat them like human beings or accept them at all since the antisemitism that allowed the Holocaust to happen was not solely in Germany and didn’t magically disappear after the war ended.

Look. The situation is simple when you boil it down to this: Israel is bombing and starving Palestinians like fish in a barrel and doesn’t want to allow aid to Gaza, which consists of a population of over 50% children. Israel allowed the Nakba and displacement of Palestinians for decades and tries to hide it from public view. This is genocide. The Israeli government is at fault for this. Israel holds the power here because they have the power to bomb and starve millions of people and force them out of their homes, and Palestine certainly does not. It’s an utterly horrific, inhumane thing to do with no excuses for it and it needs to stop. This is the simple part that is glaringly obvious for everyone to see and it’s almost laughable for anyone to deny it.

Okay. You’ve successfully identified the main problem and the “bad guy,” if you want to put it in childish simplistic terms. So the question now is: what next? Say Israel agrees to an immediate ceasefire. What do you, impassioned activist on the internet, propose should be done to solve this situation after that? What should be done to free the Israeli hostages? Do you think the UK and the US, two of the most powerful countries in the world who actively help Israel commit its atrocities against Palestine, will ever do anything to help the Palestinians once Israel loses its power, even if better governments are eventually elected? How should the Palestinian land be claimed back? Where should all the Israeli citizens go? Should they all be forced out to Europe and America, even if that isn’t where they originate from, where the already-rife antisemitism has spiked even further since October 7th and Jews who live thousands of miles from Israel and have nothing to do with Israel’s actions face horrific hate crimes every day? Do Israeli children deserve that? Who’s going to pay for their travel and accommodation? Or, should they all be allowed to stay there and live side by side with the Palestinians? Do you think most Palestinians would be happy to remain neighbours with the citizens of the country that has oppressed them so fiercely for over 75 years, even if said citizens didn’t partake in it or in fact opposed it? What about the 20% of Israeli citizens who are Arab or Palestinian? Do you hold the same opinion of foreign settlers in Israel as you do its citizens whom have made a home there for many generations? How do you discern between settlers and “real” Israelis? Do you see any difference between them at all? Why? And what should be done about Hamas, the group that openly calls for the genocide of all Jews around the world and commits war crimes against Israeli citizens? How much of the history behind Israel’s occupation of Palestine are you aware of? Do you think the British government should be held accountable for splitting Palestine in the first place? How would you go about that? Would it be fair to punish the British people for their government’s actions when British citizens didn’t vote for it? How does that compare to your view of Israel and its citizens, and why?

I am absolutely NOT asking trick questions here or trying to “gotcha!” anyone. I am asking these questions precisely BECAUSE they are extremely difficult to answer, with several of them contradicting each other, and they are meant to get an emotional reaction out of you. I certainly don’t know what the “correct” answers to most of those questions are, and that’s exactly my point: there is no simple answer to a problem that has been going on for decades with such a wide, complex history. Historians and political experts who know all the facts and have studied this shit for years don’t know the answer and it’s honestly insulting to all the people suffering to log on every day and see so many people go “actually 😌 I, a random 20-30 something year old on the internet who isn’t even touched by what’s happening in Palestine, have figured it out before everyone else! Just delete an entire country and all its citizens off the map 😊 This is a moral thing to suggest! And if you disagree with me you’re promoting Zionism/terrorism 😘” There are no simple answers and if you think there is one — and especially if you think that answer is to kick citizens out of the country their family has lived in for generations — then you are both wilfully ignorant and evidently fuelled more by hatred than an actual desire for peace and an end to death and oppression and I don’t believe there is a crumb of sincerity in your activism.

Am I naive enough to think that fighting against oppression and occupation is always going to be peaceful? Obviously not. But you’ve got to think about where and when said violence is actually going to be beneficial, and where and when it’s violence purely for the sake of violence, which is NEVER justified. You can’t advocate for human rights and then turn around and say “oh, but not for you.” EVERYONE deserves food and water. EVERYONE deserves shelter. EVERYONE deserves to receive treatment for sickness or injury. NOBODY deserves cruel and unusual punishment or torture. And EVERYONE deserves to be alive. Those are essential human rights that should never, ever be denied wherever it is possible to give them, and disagreeing with that reflects extremely poorly on you and your principles. Think about what narrative you are pushing when you claim an entire people “deserves” bad things. The constant dehumanisation I see happening in online activism (and far too often in real life too) is actually terrifying and if you want to do some real good in the world, I need everyone reading this to examine their potential internal prejudices, even the ones you don’t think you have, and think about who exactly you’re helping when you express thoughts that perpetuate them, and who you may be harming in the process.

Anyway, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way…

Here are some useful resources if you want to make a difference and help people:

Standing Together (an Israeli movement advocating for ceasefire and peace between Israelis and Palestinians)

Zochrot (an Instagram page that seeks to educate the public about the Nakba)

Parents’ Circle (an organisation run by relatives of Israelis and Palestinians killed in the conflict who advocate for peace)

Operation Olive Branch (a Google Doc of Palestinian families seeking evacuation)

Mesarvot Network (an Instagram page run by young Israelis seeking to refuse the IDF draft and end military violence committed by both Hamas and the IDF)

Other Gaza aid organisations to donate to

#I’ve kept this in for too long I had to say something #I wonder if anyone will call me a Zionist for saying that Israelis are people who don’t deserve death #Despite the fact I’ve been spreading awareness for the Palestinians all this time #Tumblr activists when you don’t advocate for human suffering: 😡😡😡#Tumblr activists when you don’t treat a genocide like a sports game: 😡😡😡#Tumblr activists when you think death is bad: 😡😡😡#Tumblr activists when a Jewish person exists: 😡😡😡#I’m not Jewish but if I was I would likely be too scared to post this oop #Do you know how many Jewish mutuals I have who advocate for Palestine to be free #But they receive antisemitic abuse and get called Zionists for not wanting Israelis to die #I’ve been too scared to say all this for a while tbh #But if people have a problem with me saying ‘I want as little suffering to anyone to happen as possible’#Then are those really people I want around me?#Oh fuck British politicians for supporting genocide btw #free palestine #free gaza #gaza aid #palestine resources #israel palestine conflict #i/p #genocide #ethnic cleansing #human rights #antisemitism #islamophobia #holocaust #activism #fuck the tories #fuck labour #long post

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sadhours · 1 year

Text

neon lights pt. 4 | b.h & reader

18 + minors dni | prev. chap

contents: adult themes, smut, exotic dancing, this is kind of self indulgent with billys armpits I’m not sorry

You’re paranoid. You know that. It would be impossible for your coworkers to know that you’ve been hooking up with the cute bartender for a couple weeks now but you still feel like you’ll get caught with lingering glances and laughing too hard at his jokes. What’s not fair is that Billy can flirt with you as hard as he wants and cheer from behind the bar when you’re on stage because it’s not suspicious when he does it. In fact, he does that with most of the dancers. Perhaps it would be more suspicious if he didn’t do that.

Funny thing is, you don’t even need to hide this but you really don’t want the whole club knowing because then they’ll ask questions. You’d seen it after Billy had hooked up with some of the dancers, a million questions about him and what he was like in the sack or if they were dating him. Sometimes they’d ask you about him, since he lived with you and he was pretty reserved and mysterious. Which he was with you too. You knew his routines and habits but you didn’t know his dreams or aspirations. You didn’t know about his family but you’d assumed it wasn’t a happy one since he didn’t bring them up and they never called to talk to him.

That’s got to be on the to do list: get to know your roommate that you’re only sleeping with. You keep telling yourself you two are only having sex but Billy has slept in your bed every single night since this started. On nights he stays out late at the casino, he still crawls into your bed instead of his and even though he reeks of cigarettes in the worst way, you melt in his arms and fall asleep mid-making out. You haven’t kissed this much since high school. It’s insane. Sometimes you guys don’t even have sex, you just lay sprawled out on your bed or the couch, tongues tied. You’d forgotten how much you loved kissing and Billy’s the absolute best at it. You’re actually a little self conscious, worried that you suck at it even when he tells you that you’re the best kisser in the world. It’s an intimate interaction you’d taken for granted. You've never felt more desired in your life.

“Earth to Cherry,” your co-worker, Delancy says as she sits next to you. “What or sorry, who are you thinking about? Lost in your own little world over there.”

“Sorry,” you reply sheepishly, “I was just zoning out, no thoughts up here.”

You jokingly knock on your temple, standing up and disrobing. Your set is after hers which means you’re up. She slaps your ass as you walk past and you turn to blow her a kiss.

“I’m gonna need the warmest welcome for our next lady,” the emcee announces, “You know her, you love her, you want her… Cherry!”

You strut out on the stage, flipping your hair behind your shoulder and smiling to the familiar and new faces lining the stage. You desperately want to look at the loud cheers coming from behind the bar, knowing you’ll see Billy with a wide, happy smile. The urge to make money helps you make eye contact with the dollar bills flying towards you as you wrap a leg around the pole.

“Ow!” Billy’s excited voice cheers for you and you can’t help it, locking your eyes with his.

You arch your back, dropping your eyes to tonight’s bachelor and delivering him a wink. He’s a shy guy, his friends slapping him on the back. You like those ones, they’re always so respectful and they never lay a hand on you during lap dances but their friends make sure they tip you heavily. You find yourself wondering what Billy would be like as a patron, it’s a dangerous thought as it makes your moves on the pole a lot more sexually charged. You crawl across the floor, seeing Ulysses S. Grants face and you try to remember a time when you’d seen a $50 while on stage. You snatch it from the fingers and tuck it into your g-string, then you see the generous face looking back at you. Chip grins up at you and from years of practice, you do not falter but instead, you give him more of a show, pulling at the string of your top to release your breasts. This is a topless club after all. The sea of men cheer as you stand back to your feet and toss your top to the back of the stage before making your way along the front, sliding bills wherever you can fit them.

Billy’s in awe, always is when he sees you but when you’re on stage, it’s like a whole different personality comes out. He totally understands why you have such a loyal fan base, regulars he only sees on nights you’re working. He can see in your eyes how much you enjoy this and it’s not anything he sees from the other dancers. He’s happy to see you happy, even if it’s the money the men hand you that gives you that look in your eye. All he wants to do is lift you up and Billy’s never felt that for another person in his entire life, except for his mother.

Becky rocks her hip against Billy’s, “You two finally did it.”

“Huh?” Billy tries a hand at acting, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He grabs the bottle of house tequila and pours three shots for the gentlemen at the bar.

“I can see it in your eyes, dude,” Becky laughs and Billy waves a hand at her dismissively.

“It’s called pining. I want what I can’t have,” he motions at the men at the bar, who are all turned towards the stage, “We all want what we can’t have.”

Becky snorts, “They look at her like she’s the last slice of pizza and they’re all starving. You,” she pokes his chest, “Look at her like she’s the goddamn embodiment of heaven.”

“She is,” he mumbles, setting the bottle down and sliding the shots across bar, “Six dollars, gentlemen, cash only.”

Without looking, the guy who ordered shoves Billy a $10. He makes the change and throws the rest in his bucket. Becky walks over and smirks up at him, “You can’t get shit passed me, Hargrove.”

He rolls his eyes but they fall back on you, watching as you gather up your money while the music fades. He knows you’ll be out on the floor and he grabs two shot glasses, preparing them on the bar-top.

“The liar works tonight,” Chip grins as he sits at the stool directly in front of Billy.

“Sorry, I’m new,” Billy lies with a shit-eating grin.

“What’s she drink?” he asks, pulling his wallet from his pocket.

“Top shelf gin,” Billy admits, grabbing the coup to prepare your favorite drink. He grabs the shot glasses but stops himself, figuring he deserves two shots after this interaction is done.

Chip slides a twenty dollar bill over, “I’ll have a shot of Jack.”

Billy’s eyes catch yours as you make your way to the bar, noting your outfit change. The white top and bottoms with cherries bedazzled on them make his dick ache in his jeans. The first time he saw you in it, he took his fifteen and jerked off in the bathroom.

“Hey, darling,” he smirks at you, “I’d say you made rent the first fifteen seconds you were up there. Looks like I can go ahead and take my half to the casino.”

Billy never, ever mentions the fact that you two live together in front of customers but he fucking hates this Chip guy and wants to make him mad.

“Only if you can double it, lucky boy,” you sing as you rest your arms on the bar, then you notice Chip and Billy rolls his eyes as your demeanor changes. He knows this is why you resisted your attraction to him but he doesn’t care, he can deal with most of the assholes who want to get in your pants but this guy just makes his skin crawl.

“Oh and hello to you,” you smile at him, “I owe you a private dance for how nice you’re treating me.”

“As long as it doesn’t go to this bozo’s rent,” Chip motions his thumb behind him and when you look up, Billy’s mocking him with his hands. You can’t help but giggle, even though you worry Billy’s jealous. That’s why you’ve set restrictions for yourself in the first place.

“God, no, come rain or shine, he’s got to pay his fair share,” you say before giving Billy a pointed look.

“He’s not your boyfriend, is he?” Chip asks.

“In my dreams,” Billy groans, but locks his eyes on yours to let you know he’s serious but he also doesn’t want to make your job any harder, “But hey, I wish I was every one of these girls boyfriends.”

“This one’s the prettiest,” Chip declares, pointing at you.

“You’re so sweet,” you tell him, twirling your hair in between your fingers.

Chip turns and grabs the drink he’s ordered for you, though he has no idea what it is, “I was told this is your favorite.”

You take it graciously and try to ignore Billy pounding two shots one after the other behind Chip. As the two of you walk towards the private rooms, Billy reassures himself by setting a goal tonight to make you scream his name as soon as he gets you home. Chip can hand you all the money he wants, he’ll never get you anywhere near an orgasm and Billy knows that.

“You gotta cool it,” Becky scolds him.

“Huh?”

“That one was obvious,” she says, “Didi even catches wind of you two hooking up and you’re out on your ass. That’s her number one money maker.”

Billy knows it, reaching for his pack of Marlboros, “We’re not hooking up, Becky. God damn. Just keep rubbing it in my fucking face.”

She shakes her head, but turns to look at him as she walks back to her side of the bar like she believes him for a second.

He feels his stomach churn, thinking about you in that private room with that arrogant douchebag. He’s never really cared about it before but this guy thinks he has a chance and Billy worries he does. He knows it’s ridiculous but the only time Billy’s handed you a wad of cash it’s with sorrowful eyes and an apology because it’s always about a week too late. He wonders what this Chip fella does for a living that makes it so easy to throw so much money at you. The history of you having gone to school with the guy also makes him worried because truth be told, Billy doesn’t really know you. Conversations always tend to be about mundane things or how attractive the other is. You’ve both built this wall up and haven’t began taking it down. Billy’s not sure if either of you really will. It’s comfortable to go home and talk about each others day. Who would want to ruin that with trauma?

Billy takes a long drag off his cigarette as you exit the private room and say goodbye to Chip. At least the guy knows when to leave. You walk back over to the bar and smile wide at Billy, “He just paid our rent.”

“Your rent,” he says, pouring a couple of shots for the two of you.

You shake your head, “No, the boyfriend thing did something for him. You helped work for this money.”

Billy chuckles, “What did he say in there?”

You sit down on a stool and cheers Billy, downing the celebratory shot as you think back to the private room. Chip was weird. You didn’t touch him when you could help it but he was talking at you like you were, like he was about to blow a load in his pants.

“Lots of things but I think he was thinking more about you than he was me,” you reply happily.

Billy gives you a bewildered look, “In what way?”

“He kept asking if you were my boyfriend and I said you were whatever he wanted you to be, so he took that as a yes and started saying stuff about how much it turned him on to know you were right out here but he was in the room with me,” you shrug.

Billy nods, “So in his fantasy world, I’m being cuckholded. Interesting.”

He thinks it’s funny because truth be told, he actually gets to touch you and doesn’t have to pay to see your tits. You giggle, grabbing a hold of Billy’s wrist to look at his watch. You’ve only got an hour left of your shift.

“What’re we doing after work?” you ask, glancing around to make sure Didi or any coworkers weren’t in ear shot.

You know you should be out making more money, not spending time with Billy but hey, the few hundred dollars tucked into your top was more than you’d expected for a 5 minute private dance. He also looked particularly cute today, tying his hair up with one of your hair ties after a few hours behind the bar. He’d told you he hadn’t had a haircut in at least a year and you’d said you would cut it for him but you haven’t offered since and you’re starting to really like how long it is.

“No clue but looks like you’re paying,” he teases.

You mull over the options in your head, “I’m sure we’ll figure it out by the end of the night.”

Turning your head, you see Didi entering from the dressing room and that’s your cue to actually do your job again. You hop off the stool and make your rounds around, waiting until someone catches your attention. Didi walks up to the bar, asks Billy to make her a drink with a flutter of her eyelashes.

“Yes, ma’am,” he sings, reaching back for the bottle of gin.

“Busy night,” she says, glancing around the club, “You doing well in tips?”

“Oh yeah, plus the roomie just earned our rent in like five minutes so I’m not stressing anymore,” he explains, backtracking from his conversation he had with her a week ago about how badly he needed money. He had told her as a way to ask for more shifts but Didi had taken it differently, thinking that he was asking her for money and she’d come on pretty strong that night. He got out of it with his charm but Billy was still feeling super uncomfortable around her since.

“That girl really knows how to make money,” Didi shakes her head. You were the best dancer here, you never got too drunk, you never showed up with baggage and you really knew how to wring men of every penny that had.

Billy nods, handing the gin and soda to Didi, “Maybe her skills will rub off on me.”

He makes a face, realizing that might sound sexual even though he didn’t mean it that way. Didi laughs and drops her hand on top of Billy’s.

“Oh, I’m sure you have it in you, just gotta put your mind to it.”

Billy grins awkwardly, wanting to pull his hand away but he didn’t want to offend her because he needed this job. Luckily, a group of drunk guys stumble their way up to the bar and Billy can excuse himself to over serve them.

“I’m tired,” you complain as you watch Billy wash the last bit of dishes. You’d changed into your sweatpants and hoodie and all you want to do is wash your makeup off. The last hour dragged on and you had forgotten that even if your shift ends, Billy has to stay behind to clean the bar. You like watching him move tough, the curls that had fallen from his ponytail bounce around his face and neck and his face looks so concentrated. It’s probably because he’s a bit tipsy but it’s adorable.

“So we just going home then, sweet thing?” he asks as he stands up, puts his hands on his hips as he tries to think about what he’s got to do next.

“Will you make me ramen when we get home?” you pout up at him with your big doe eyes.

Billy can’t resist, he grabs a hold of your face and leans over the bar to kiss you. You melt into it before you remember Didi is lurking around here somewhere, so you pull away.

“That a yes?” you ask, biting your lip.

The blonde just shakes his head, turning around to continue his nightly duties.

When you get home, he does start boiling a pot of water and you disappear into the bathroom to wash your makeup off. You tie your hair up into a bun and smear moisturizer on your face, figuring by the time you finish up your ramen will be ready. Billy does it perfect too, every time no matter how shitfaced he is. He usually cuts up some green onions and occasionally fries up an egg for it. You smell that he’s doing so now as soon as you open the bathroom door. Everything about it is so domestic, you think when you walk into the kitchen and see him cooking for you, lit cigarette perched between his lips but he’s careful to lean over and ash in the ashtray. You’re not sure this is even a friends with benefit’s situation, whenever you look at him you’re enamored.

You wrap your arms around his waist and rest your cheek against his back, unable to really control your hands as they snake under his shirt to grab his hips. His skin is always hot to the touch, makes your fingers tingle. Billy leans back against you, guiding your feet back to he can strain some of the water from the noodles as you cling onto him. He’s sweaty from work but you’ve always been excited by his musk, you find yourself shoving your face in his armpit whenever you can. Billy thinks it’s a bit strange but he’s flattered more than anything, especially when you mutter something about pheromones when he teases you about it.

“Alright,” he peels your hands off his hips and you let out a whine of protest. “Ramen time.”

He carries the bowls over to the coffee table while you reach into the fridge to grab you each a can of soda. You sit cross crossed beside him, cracking open the soda and taking a big gulp, the carbonation settles your stomach. Billy leans forward to grab your bowl and hand it to you, reaching for the remote to turn the TV on before he starts digging into his own.

You mix up the noodles, humming happily before slurping a forkful into your mouth. You two sit in silence as you eat and once you’ve disposed of your empty bowls on the coffee table, you curl up with Billy, shoving your hand up his shirt to lay your palm against his bare chest. He lays his hand on your ass and kisses your forehead. You don’t care how this blurs the lines, it just feels so right. You close your eyes, unable to keep them open from how comfortable you are on his chest and slowly drift to sleep.

You wake up when Billy’s lifting you off the couch, bridal style. The house is dark now and you don’t know how long he let you sleep on the couch. He carries you to the bathroom and sits you on the counter after flicking the light on. You see he’s changed into a pair of grey sweats that hang low on his hips. You let your eyes rake over his chest, smiling up at him dreamily. When he reaches up to open the medicine cabinet, you lean forward and smush your face into his exposed armpit.

“You weirdo,” he chuckles, pulling away once he’s grabbed your toothbrush.

“Smells good,” you mumble, sleepily.

He shakes his head, smiling as he wets your toothbrush and squeezes some toothpaste on it before handing it to you.

“Brush,” he instructs.

You obey, sticking the toothbrush in your mouth while you look up at him.

“I’m not weird,” you say around your toothbrush and Billy leans back against the wall, raising an eyebrow at you.

He mimics you, speaking gibberish to tease you. You giggle, hopping off the counter to spit into the sink and rinsing out your mouth.

“I said I’m not weird,” you clarify, locking your fingers as you trail back to your room.

Billy turns your light on, closing the door behind him and goes to turn the fan on, “I’ve never had anyone smell my armpit.”

Grabbing the hem of your sweatshirt to pull it over your head, you get stuck and struggle a bit before you feel Billy’s hands helping get it off of you. He drops it to the floor and places his hands on your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Okay, they were all missing out,” you shrug, resting your cheek on his pec.

Billy laughs softly, walking you over to the bed and laying you down on it. He walks over to turn the light out and crawls down into the bed with you. You melt as you pulls you into his arms starts pressing kisses against your throat. You lean your head back and moan softly, tangling your legs with his.

“Well, thank you,” he mumbles, “It’s very flattering that you like my BO, even if it’s kinda weird.”

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure you have your weird kinks you’re hiding.”

Billy laughs, “Oh, it’s a kink now?”

You slap his chest, “No, but you know what I’m trying to say.”

He nods, chuckling softly still, “I’m just fucking with you, baby.”

The pet name makes you purr, the way it falls out of his lips makes your thighs tingle. He places his hand on your cheek and turns your head up to his, pressing his lips against yours. It starts lazily, sporadic kisses between just resting your lips against the others. Billy drags his fingernails up and down the small of your back, you shiver under his touch, a chill running up your spine. You feel him smile and you return it, grabbing a hold of his jaw. He bites your bottom lip, teeth gently knocking into yours for a second but he’s quick to smooth his tongue along your lower lip. You dart yours out to meet his, your toes curling as the kiss becomes more charged. Billy’s grabbing at your skin, pushing you impossibly closer to him while licking into your mouth. Your heart pounds in your chest, feeling like a teenager again. You always do whenever you two kiss like this. The build up of it all so utterly arousing, like Billy’s shy at first and then he suddenly can’t get enough of you. And he’ll kiss you like this for hours, until you’re both a panting mess and he has to get out of bed to fetch you some water.

Sometimes it ends with sex, other times hand stuff or occasionally just sleep. You never know which but you’re anticipating his next move always. Right now with the way he’s pulling and scratching at your hips, you know it won’t end in sleep even though you’re on the verge of it. Billy’s good at waking you up, though. He grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes it before mumbling into your mouth, “You’re so sexy. Want you out of these sweats.”

“Then take them off,” you reply hastily, tugging on his curls when his lips find your throat again. Billy pushes you onto your back and hovers above you, licking where your shoulder meets your neck as his fingertips hook into your sweatpants to pull them off of you. It’s so much hotter when he undresses you. He notices you’re not wearing underwear and he groans softly, pushing your thighs apart so he can get his fingers on you. He wastes no time, feeling how soaked you are and he wonders if it’s from the kissing or the armpit thing but he’s too embarrassed to ask.

“So fucking wet,” he settles for, inching two digits inside of your acing core.

“Billy,” you pant out, unable to keep your eyes open as he curls his fingers up and drags them across your most sensitive wall.

“Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice hoarse against your skin. You nod frantically, mind cloudy as you focus on the pleasure he brings you.

“Tell me,” he demands harshly and he pauses his movements abruptly as he looks up at you. It’s a little disorienting but most of all, it’s irritating. No matter how stubborn you are, you’re learning that Billy always gets his way. You wonder if the whole thing with Chip is bothering him and that scares you. This isn’t supposed to be an exclusive relationship and you find yourself regretting that you hadn’t set stronger boundaries. No, instead you insinuated that you wanted exclusivity.

Your hands raise to grab onto his biceps and your worries slip away at the touch of his warm skin. Writhing against his fingers, you finally pant out, “It’s all for you, Billy.”

He presses a searing kiss against your lips, continuing his ministrations but faster and harder this time, almost like you’ve won the prize. He mouths against your lips, “That’s right, baby. This pussy is all mine.”

You arch against him when his fingertips graze the spongy spot deep inside you and you gasp out, digging your nails into his arms. Your entire body is on fire and Billy’s barely started. How he’s able to have this effect on you is unbeknown. It’s like he’s magic, or worse.

He pulls back, positioning himself better between your legs. He spreads your thighs wider with his knees, entering a third finger into your gushing center. Pressing his left palm on your pubic bone, he rubs your clit with his thumb in quick, repeating circles. The pressure of his hand on you added with the fingers pumping in and out as quick and as hard as he can is excruciatingly delicious. No man has ever fingered you like this and you begin to wonder where in the fuck he learned this. You don’t have time to think much about it as he’s coaxing your orgasm along. Any minute now, you know you’ll cum harder than you ever have before.

“Look at you,” he coos, “such a desperate little slut.”

If you could see you from his eyes, you’d have to agree. You’re squirming around, your fists grabbing the sheets below you so tight your knuckles are turning white and the noises you’re making are borderline pornographic. Like you’re faking it but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Billy’s just a fucking God with his fingers.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he says it almost condescendingly, “like a good little slut.”

His words are like a spell and it works, your orgasm crashes through you aggressively. You scream his name, legs shaking as you squirt out all over his fingers and arms. And it lasts for what feels like forever. When you think it’s over, it keeps going and you realize Billy hasn’t stopped. He won’t let you come down, pulling a consecutive orgasm from you. You squirt again and finally, your legs snap shut around his arms. You cry out his name like a chant, begging him to stop or continue, you’re not sure.

You have no idea how much time as passed when you’re able to sit up and look at him, seeing the mess you’ve made of the sheets and Billy’s sweats. You’re gasping for air, your lungs burning and you’re entire body feels like it’s vibrating.

“What the fuck?” you pant in disbelief.

Never in your life have you done that before. In fact, you didn’t even know it was possible. You’d heard of other women squirting but you’d never done it. Until Billy. He looks so goddamn cheerful at your reaction. He even laughs, rubbing your thighs soothingly.

“You’re welcome,” he beams.

“Fuck,” you collapse on your back, trying to catch your breath.

“I think we’re gonna have to sleep in my bed,” he mentions, a hint of humor in his voice.

“I don’t think I can stand,” you tease back at him, “You’re gonna have to carry me.”

Billy does, getting off the bed and scooting his arms underneath you to pick you up like he did earlier that night. He carefully walks you to his bedroom, laying you on his bed before going to change into different clothes and you see the erection he’s sporting. You reach your hands out, making grabby gestures.

“No clothes, C’mere.”

Billy chuckles, “I guess that’s fair enough.”

He turns his light off and crawls into his bed beside you. You turn to kiss him, your fingertips circling his cock slowly and you smile into the kiss when he moans softly. You’ve never been insecure about your skills in bed but Billy’s on a whole new level and you ache to impress him. You pull away from his lips and start kissing down his chest and stomach. You lick a broad stripe against his abs, tightening your grip on the base of him. He exhales, fingers tangling into your hair as you descend lower. You let go of him and his cock rests up against his stomach, your hands meet his hips and you lick from his balls to his tip. Billy lets out a guttural groan so you do it a few more times before wrapping your lips around his tip. Humming around him, you inch him further and further until you can’t anymore. You feel his pubes tickle your nose, his hands pulling roughly at your hair. You swallow around him before you ease up, your hand moving to stroke where your mouth leaves. You gather the remaining saliva in your mouth and drool it over his tip, using your hand to spread it along his length.

Billy’s panting above you, “Ugh, such a good girl…”

His praise feels nice, making you giggle softly before rolling your tongue along the edges of his tip. You stroke him faster, lowering your mouth to his sack so you can swirl your tongue against his balls. Billy groans louder this time, jerking his hips as he fucks into your first. You start to feel a dull burn in your forearm and wrist but you’re determined to give him an equally earth shattering orgasm as he gave you briefly before.

“Fuck,” Billy grits behind clenched teeth, “I’m gonna cum.”

You quickly move to wrap your lips around his tip again, sucking him down hard without relenting your motions with your hand.

Billy whines, “Ah-ah…” and it’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard in your life. You hum happily and he shoots his load into your mouth, hips lifting of the bed as he does so. You swallow and continue to suck, pulling every last drip from him until he’s pushing your head away.

“Fuck,” he exhales loudly, reaching for your arm so he can pull you back up with him. Your face is close enough so you bury it in his armpit and take a whiff. Billy jumps, pulling you up the bed further.

“Jesus Christ, you fiend, that tickles,” he mutters as he presses his lips to yours.

“You smell so fucking good,” you purr, “I just can’t help myself.”

“After that, you deserve it,” he grins, “now get some sleep.”

#billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fic #neon lights

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starcorpscommander · 6 months

Text

Project: Wingman Starters, Crimson 1 Edition

Feel free to change any references to locations/factions as appropriate.

Machine of the Mantle:

We’re spent on fuel and ammo, give us a reason, HQ.

Roger, tally ho, let’s chase these dogs off.

If you’re unable to fight, disengage, I don’t need mercenary trash getting a lucky shot off.

Don’t get cocky, cornered animals tend to lash out.

Cold War:

I’m on the leader, the one with the crown.

Do you even understand what you’re doing?! You’re getting in the way of world peace!

Tell them we have them, just keep sending reinforcements, don’t take this from me!

Return:

Unsurprising, they always return to the scene of the crime.

______, engage, avenge this land.

Sheep are to be protected and yet wolves like you have to be fed, do you see the problem here? We're the sheepdogs.

Come back here, you've made this personal.

I should've killed you when I had the chance.

If I had killed you over Yellowstone, this war would have been over by now. It was a mistake, I intend to correct that.

You know, they used to call me obsessed. Now, they call me their solution.

At the end of the day, you're just a criminal looking for your next handout.

You've taken too much, you'll lose everything in turn.

The world will prove you wrong even if you win this war, but it's not like you'll live to see it, mercenary.

Just think, how many have you killed?

You're wild dogs, of course!

Kings:

You're a slave to history.

Even after Calamity, you fight against the only order that can guarantee the safety of your people.

You solely are responsible for this.

What do you have to show for yourself, merc, blood? Gold? A broken throne?

I will bury you so completely, the earth will turn over a thousand times before your body is dug up.

You can't run, you can't hide, you made this decision long ago, you can't back out of this deal!

I'm Cascadian, you think I take joy fighting over my homeland, killing my own countrymen?!

If you never showed up, I never would have lost all that I have!

Me and you now. No distractions, no wingmen, no war, just me and you, whoever wins is the best pilot.

Every safety's coming off, no second chances.

"Monarch," you use the name of a king, but what do you rule over, the dead?! The Federation fought for peace in this war and you denied them that!

The people of Cascadia, do you know what you've taken from them?! Their homes! And for what, to secede from the world?!

What, you think you can fight this war again in 50 years' time, do you really think history will see it your way?!

You don't even care why you're here!

How does it feel to not have a country, to not have borders to define yourself against the world?

The Calamity erased mankind once, our chance to start again, this is how you've dealt with it?!

You drove me to this...this death and destruction over the Federation, millions of lives lost... So many ghosts... Kill me...or be killed!

This is my home!

Here we are, fighting for Cascadia's soul.

That's the deal you made, right?

What happens when you shoot me down?! Can you even think?!

What will you return to?! Where will you go?! We both know how this ends!

Kill me, kill me and see what happens to this world!

Either way, your life ends today!

And my squadron, do you think they deserved it?!

The Federation might try to forget about you, but I won't, this is for the good of the world!

Come on, come in for that kill, you dog!

______, when you hear the thunder... ...when the storm...comes for you... ...remember me.

#ask meme #inbox meme #rp starters #sentence starters

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harrison-abbott · 10 months

Text

A Post-Internet World

I was watching The X-Files earlier. Season 1, which aired in 1993. It’s a fun show; and as a 90s boy (me being born in 1992), it took me back to that hazy world, where the music was different, the haircuts different, even the colour of the streets seemingly different.

The characters step into phone booths to make calls. They still have those televisions which are massive black boxes which flash with those black & white dots when not hooked on to a channel. They still read broadsheet newspapers. I’ll admit a nostalgia for the 1990s and TV shows from that pre-Sopranos age.

But it got me thinking about the main thing missing from the daily lives of people back then.

The internet. They don’t use the internet; it’s just not there … Which is surreal when you compare it to 2023, when all of us are constantly wired to the internet.

So it got me thinking about just how much the world wide web has altered the planet, since the era I mentioned above, when I was a child.

1993 is a convenient year, because this is when the first proper web browser was released to the public. Amazon and eBay were invented in 1995, and Google in 1998. Wikipedia was born in 2001. In 1993, 1% of information fed through global telecommunications networks was performed via the internet. In 2023, it is 100%.

What about TV shows? Well – you remember Blockbuster, right? The video store. That’s what you’d do on a Friday night, go and rent a VHS out to watch the X-Files. Well, Blockbuster declined heavily after the explosion of the internet, and closed its last store in Alaska in 2018.

The internet also killed Toys R Us, RadioShack, Virgin Megastores (in terms of high street shops, in the West), the Discovery Channel Store, Borders book shop, Hastings Entertainment, Dixons entertainment, Woolworths, Sears (which was once the world’s largest retailer) and GameStop, to name a few.

Furthermore, there are whole industries which have had to adapt to the WWW. Pre-internet, and up until the new millennium, almost all books were sold in bookstores, as physical copies. Today, 80% of books are sold online. Specific types of books are no longer bought on demand; such as encyclopedias, dictionaries, travel guides or maps – all of which are easier to access online.

Landlines … for your phone in your house. In the 1990s 9 in 10 of households used their landline phone as a main way of communication. Today it’s 9 in 10 with cellphones.

Journalism. From 2005 to 2021, over 2200 American print newspapers closed in the US; and from 2008 to 2020, the number of American newspaper journalists were cut by half. Similarly, in the UK, around 300 newspapers died away between 2009 and 2019.

The music industry. Is an obvious one, and among those most severely struck. Whilst the net made it far easier to pirate music, platforms such as Apple Music and Spotify removed the need for illegal listeners. The industry itself was among the most profitable in the 1990s. Within the last 20 years its revenue has been reduced by 50%, when taking all sources into account. CD sales reached their peak in the year 2000 in America (a figure of around 900 million). Since then sales have dropped 95%.

And, on a grander scale, we can’t ignore how the internet has altered how we socialise. We spend more time on the internet in our daily lives that we do via communicating with other people face to face.

It’s changed the way we read, and the amount that we read. People are far more likely to skim read articles on a screen and not read beyond the initial three or four paragraphs, especially if this requires clicking ‘next page’ to read on. Writers on the internet now write shorter sentences in order to hold reader attention span.

The internet has changed crime. Through cybercrime, as people find it easier to steal money from long distance locations whilst hiding their identities. It is estimated that over $600 billion is lost (or robbed) each year via cyber criminals.

It’s changed the way people date. People who use dating apps are more likely to have sex sooner in a relationship than those who meet in the ‘traditional’ way; and are more likely to date several people at once before choosing a specific individual. Moreover, it has made people less likely to commit, because with internet dating, they have far more options.

Most of this essay has been negative. One can’t deny that the internet has many positive sides to it too. With Healthcare, for instance: as people are able to communicate with their doctors without having to physically attend a GP, thus making it faster. And in terms of education – one can basically look up any information they please at any point. Rather than having to head to a library or school.

I use the internet all the time as well. Am no different. I suppose it just felt odd, watching the X-Files earlier, as it gave me that dose of what it was like in boyhood. There was Twin Peaks, as well, and Friends, you know, all of those classic 90s shows. I used to watch them on one of those gigantic televisions, which only had four channels.

In 1993, around 15 million people used the internet. Nowadays, over 4.66 billion people are online. That’s less than 1% of the world population in 93, to around 60% of the world population now.

I miss the 1990s. It was a great decade for things like television, and film, and music. Culture in general. The irony is that I no longer own a VHS player. And I was using a streaming site to watch the X-Files earlier. I should feel lucky to have experienced that last-decade-before-the-internet. To belong to the millennials generation.

What I do still have is a retro TV (with the black & white scrambly dots), and a Nintendo 64 and Playstation, oh – and a great collection of CDs. And they’re never getting chucked out, ever. Will keep them, always.

#writeblr #essays #history of the internet #history of communications #x files #1990s tv #classic tv #blockbuster #how the internet has changed the world #history of culture #cinema #journalism #music industry

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evita-shelby · 2 years

Text

Between the Shadow and the Soul

Chapter 55

Gif by @peakywomen

Taglist @joossieisdabomb @johnathancanines @peakyblindas @kissmyquill @whitejuliana1204 @zablife

It was funny, Mexico had 5 million fascists while England only had 50 thousand. Yet the way he talked you’d think he had all of England in his pocket.

“I think there was more people at my fifteenth birthday party.” She tells Tommy and he tries not to smile. Had to be serious stone faced Thomas Shelby.

She had hinted, and played coy about her allegiances, but it was all vague and didn’t affect her image of the bewitching and exotic Socialist who cared about the lower classes.

Eva wears a soft gold color, the color of the paramilitary group in Mexico that tried to put Vasconcelos in the presidency and failed several times.

The color would go unnoticed by Mosley and his blonde bitch, Diana. The sapphire around her neck wouldn’t.

Tommy had not taken up Mosley's invitation into his new party, the British Union of Fascists. They remained Socialist allies in the Labour Party until Churchill asked them to accept Mosley's invitation.

It would likely happen when Ramsey Macdonald lost his post as Prime Minister in the next six months.

“Mr. Shelby! Mr. Shelby! Daily Mirror. May I ask why a socialist MP would attend a Fascist rally, sir?” The reporter asked, rather bravely considering how Mosley hand selects his newspapers. Daily Mirror was filled with sycophants, hard to find one opposed to fascism in that lot.

Eva couldn’t wait until Viscount Rothermore sold the paper to anti-fascists next year.

“Let him in, let me answer the question. Mr. Mosley's constituency borders my own. We have worked together in the past. He was once a socialist himself. My role here tonight is to... to act as a bridge between ideologies. I am in the middle.” Very natural sounding, you wouldn’t have thought he rehearsed this answer while they got ready.

“Mr. Shelby, you once shared a platform with Mr. Mosley. Will you be sharing the stage with him tonight?” the reporter continued to ask.

Thankfully, the answer is no. Mosley didn’t like sharing after he discovered Tommy can take the spotlight off him just by breathing.

“No. I am simply here to remind my friend Mr. Mosley that the way of the British people is compromise.” Tommy answered, hiding his waning patience. “And you can print that, pal.”

“Fucking rag.” Her husband complained and Eva gave his arm a squeeze. Just a few more years and this will be all over.

The inside of the Hall is just another shrine to Oswald ‘has less people in his party than the entire population of the city of Veracruz’ Mosley.

“Mosley will have Diana with him tonight, not even bothering with discretion anymore.” She said with disgust.

Cimmie Mosley had been a much nicer woman, one who didn’t like fascism, but her last child had left her with a weak appendix that eventually ruptured and caused an infection that killed her.

There were rumors that Mosley ---at the urging of the mistress he now had--- had let her die, and those rumors were true. Something that even Churchill had been horrified to know. And yet, Diana Mitford was less dangerous than her fiancé thanks to misogyny.

They had become experts in masking their true self. Eva had developed a penchant for masquerades, after all what’s one more mask over the one they wore?

Four fucking years, at this point this was just Mexico City with lousy weather and bland food.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight he has truly earned your adulation. The future Prime Minister of this great country, Sir Oswald Mosley.” Diana presents Mosley and Eva tries not to laugh.

His one chance at PM had been in 1928, the BUF had as many members as the city of Veracruz had people in 1901, and she smirks when she looks up at Mosley on the staircase, just as protester ---one paid to look real--- throws something at his him and whatever it is bursts into a rain of sand behind Mitford.

It’s then when the familiar pang of jealousy and pride that a woman ‘in love’ with Mosley finds herself intrigued with Tommy. Mitford zeroes in on Tommy and Eva gets the feminine urge to ruin her pretty face.

“Play along, love.” He says, his cool and aloof expression not once betraying his discomfort at Eva’s nails involuntarily digging into his arm through the layers of his sleeve. “You are the only woman I want, Evie.”

It was then that Eva realized that Diana Mitford was not a player but a pawn on the board. Waiting for be made Queen, but not Queen yet.

“You always liked playing with your food.” She hears Polly say with approval.

“Mosely.” Tommy greets him as he usually does. Eva smiles and greets him as if he were a friend, nothing more.

“Diana, this is Tommy Shelby MP, OBE.” He introduced the woman who’s going to go so far, she’ll be called Lady Hitler. Eva knows with one look that she’s definitely whored herself and her sister, Unity, to the rat faced bastard.

He doesn’t introduce her, if this was a new development, Eva would’ve been offended. But this after nearly five years of him trying to humiliate her enough for her to fuck him and Eva making each and every victory he has had feel like dog shit thrown at his face.

“Mr. Shelby, Lady Diana Mitford.” She offered her hand ---and with it her cunt--- to Thomas. “Oswald's most recent and last-ever mistress.”

Last-ever? Eva tries not to laugh. Monogamy was not a word Mosley knew.

“My wife, Eva Smith Shelby.” Tommy introduced her and the women pretend they didn’t just label each other as enemies.

“Lovely necklace.” Diana says with a sickeningly sweet voice. Eva knew that voice, she was guilty of doing that voice too.

Eva knew she had been right to pick the infamous Sapphire.

“Thank you, Lady Diana, figured if I got shot again it might interest people to Sir Oswald’s cause.” Eva said before Tommy jokes about having stolen it. It was a habit he had, one that Eva felt terribly about hoping to let it die.

“Oh my, Mrs. Shelby aren’t you afraid of running out of tricks?” Mosley said, remembering her latest stint, getting mentioned in glowing terms by the rat faced bastard, Adolf Hitler.

As revolting as it was, it would be useful if he did call her and Tommy honorary Aryans. Would make it easier fo her family to continue rescuing Jewish people and other persecuted people on the same ships that came bearing gifts of food and petrol for Hitler.

“Like Aristotle once said, she who has overcome her fears will truly be free.” She answers letting her radiant mask remain affixed her face.

“Must be truly fearless if you chose Birmingham over France like the rest of the exiles.” It’s a pointed question, not many knew Eva changed her mind at the last minute.

“France is overrated, I would’ve killed myself if I had to sit at the losers’ table in Paris with the rest of the exiles.” Antonia’s family had been exiled to France, along with Oneida and her family, the Juarezes, Madero’s family and everyone else who lost.

Besides France is going to get invaded again anyways. A curse put on them by a coven of Mexican witches during Maximilian von Hapsburg’s short reign.

“A woman after my own heart, God I hate Paris.” Diana said almost honestly.

“Hmm. I hear you prefer Berlin.” Tommy said bringing the men back into the conversation.

“Oswald and I are going to marry there, aren’t we, Oswald?” Maybe the bitch before her did truly love the man.

Hard to imagine monsters were capable of love. But evil loves just good does.

What doesn’t surprise her is the sound the groom-to-be makes, as if he wasn’t excited about marriage. After all this was another marriage of convenience disguised as love.

“Mosely, I have business to discuss.” Tommy pretends not to notice Eva’s eyebrow raised in intrigue (not at the destination wedding, but Mosley’s reservations about it and them knowing about it.)

“Perhaps you and I could find somewhere a bit quieter, eh?” Tommy suggests, unaware that Diana was given a semblance of power. The Füher believed women should be at home popping out children, not running companies. Funny, wasn’t it?

“Darling, Mr. Shelby just made the astonishing suggestion that we men go off and discuss business while you women wait around looking glamorous.” Mosley tells his fiancée as if it were surprising.

“Goodness.” Diana chuckled and looked at Eva with as much interest her lover had looked at the witch when he was overcome with the idea of fucking her.

Oh, Lady Hitler likes cunt too?

Someone somewhere is laughing about this and its probably Polly.

“What year do you think this is, Mr. Shelby?” she asked with a laugh.

“In Birmingham, the centuries grind by quite slowly.” Tommy said in a way Eva knows is meant as subtle flirtation. If he keeps it up, Eva might put a pillow over his face tonight.

“Must be why Mrs. Shelby doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.” Mosley doesn’t even hide his fucked up obsession with fucking her. “But, Mr. Shelby, if it's business, Diana is the engine of my enterprise.”

“It's the modern way, Mr. Shelby.” Diana said.

“Oh yes, we know. I will join the meeting as well, after all you discovered the secret to my eternal youth.” Eva tries not to smirk. “Just last week I was given full control of the German contracts Riley and Shelby have.”

One slight ---real or imagined--- could cripple Germany’s fledging economy and leave them begging for Mexican Petrol.

“But of course, you must come as well, Eva.” The familiarity in Diana’s use of her name makes her skin crawl, but Eva must bear it. “Do you know, Oswald has told me everything about you.”

“Only three, because I know these days Mr. Shelby doesn't.” Mosley said handing her a drink.

“Our friend in Berlin doesn't either. They have that in common at least.” Diana said, sounding more interested in Hitler than her fiancé.

“Oh, I imagine they have lots in common. Both have an Eva by their side.” Eva said with a wink. It sickened her to know she shared a name with the girl younger than Finn who had been groomed by Hitler.

“Report to me, Shelby.” Mosley returns to business, pretending Eva’s joke didn’t bother him.

“Officially Jack Nelson is in London to buy import licenses. And unofficially, he's Roosevelt's envoy.” Tommy begins and takes the letter in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Well, as you can see from this private letter, he is far from a neutral point of view. Look at the bottom of the second paragraph. ‘Individually Jews are fine but as a race they stink.’”

It hadn’t become obvious to Tommy until she pointed out how staged it sounded. It had been too easy for him to get those letters; he had been so exhausted he hadn’t noticed.

“Eva, do you even know why the bridge to President Roosevelt is so important?” Diana tries to talk to her as if she was a child.

Eva raised an elegant eyebrow and looked at the blonde twat. “Same reason I serve as a bridge between England and Mexico, the Nelsons are what the Rileys used to be ---and still are at a distance--- in Mexico. My family has a great working relationship with them, my cousin, Israel de Souza is a particular friend of Jack Nelson.”

Tommy looked proud of her and then it hit her. Mosley hadn’t told her about the witch thing.

“Perhaps Sir Oswald forgot to mention why my family calls me Pythia? And let me tell you it’s not because I like Greek mythology and the color purple.”

This will be fun.

“Thanks for the drink, Mosley, nice meeting you Diana, but in about two minutes my cousin will come running to tell me my daughter, Florence, has locked herself in my husband’s office.”

“But I leave you in good company, my cousin, Israel who represents Riley International.”

Eva takes her leave just as Izzy comes in with all the natural charm and eccentricities that made the Rileys so interesting.

-----

Notes: the Goldshirts where the equivalent of the blackshirts, but more successful. The absence themselves after Pancho Villa's Elite force, Los Dorados. After all most were in Villa's army.

Vasconcelos, Jose Vasconcelos was the pro Nazis philosopher (mentioned a few chapters back)who went against el Maximato (collection of presidents controlled by former president Plutarco Elias Calles) and lost because the elections were rigged (and usually still are in MX)

#eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #oc fanfiction #thomas shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #between the shadow and the soul

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peterpan1234567 · 9 months

Text

Dexter Charming Smut

A.N: Okay so I’m writing this cause I’ve had a thing for dexter charming ever since I watched Ever After High and I can only find shit on dating and I don’t like blonds so yeah. Hope you like it…

It was a normal day in the ever after high school cafeteria the royals sat and talked about there happy ever afters while the Rebel girls well they talked about dating and the guys well they talked about everything and nothing all at once.

Faith Quinn was sat by Raven Queen daughter of the Evil Queen, Maddie Hatter daughter of the mad hatter and Hunter Huntsmen while they were all talking about whatever Faith was starring at a certain royal that she refused to admit she liked. Dexter Charming.

Most girls they were head over heals for Daring but Faith never had a thing for the outgoing brother that only paid attention to himself she was drawn to the shy brother that didn’t talk much and kept to himself.

”Hello earth to Faith.” Raven was snapping her fingers in front of Faiths face trying to get her attention. It wasn’t really working till Hunter started throwing food at her knocking her out of her starring.

“Who’s the lucky rebel that has Faith Quinn starring at them I bet it’s Sparrow,” Hunter always thought that he liked you so of course he would say him. “Eww gross never in a million years would I day Sparrow I would rather jump into acid like my mom did.”

Raven and Maddie laughed they knew who you were starting at you were all roommates before Apple made Raven be hers it’s kind of hard to hide a drawing book full of Dexter Drawings from your roommates especially when they are always looking over your shoulder at what your doing. “Well if it’s not Sparrow then who is it come on tell me you can trust me.” It’s not the fact that you didn’t trust him it’s just the fact that you didn’t know if he would like the idea of a royal and a rebel together.

“It’s no one okay so just drop it Hunter you’re never finding out who I have a crush on.” “Okay we’ll see about that now won’t we I have my ways,” “Yeah sure using animals and axes won’t help you here.” He rolled his eyes at the comment and was about to say something but then the bell rang dismissing everyone to their next class. “Gotta go guys keep guessing Hunter I enjoy you being wrong.” “Haha I’ll get it one just you wait.” You laughed and rolled your eyes before walking off to your next class that just so happened to be the only one you had to sit by Dexter in positions with Rumpelstiltskin you hated him.

Faiths always the first person to class she uses the shortcut to avoid being late since being late means you get 50% off of your final grade. You liked potions just not the professor he was so uptight and mean and always called you out when you were looking at Dexter.

Today you weren’t the first one Dexter was he had his head resting in both his hands and was looking at the board his glasses falling just the slit test bit off the top of his nose before getting out the stuff he needed for the lesson. You sat down trying not to look at him and you to grabbed out everything you needed for the lesson but on accident you grabbed your drawing book the only had Dexter in it without noticing.

Faith had just gotten out her pen to write down the word son the board so she wouldn’t forget later when Dexter turned towards her. “Hey Faith do you have the notes from yesterday I forgot to write them down if you don’t mind letting me copy them.” This was the first time Dexter had talked to you without it being in your imagination “Um yeah sure let me get them.” You opened your notebook but it wasn’t your notebook it was your drawing book Faith quickly closed the book hoping Dexter didn’t see and went to look for her potions book.

“Sorry I had the wrong book here’s the notes.” “Thank you so much I owe you one know.” You were so happy he said it so happily you couldn’t help the best that went straight to your face but looked away before he could notice. Dexter soon gave back your notes and the lesson started right after the door slammed shut keeping anyone who’s late out of the room. “Good morning class today we will be going over everything in chapter 3.” At the front of the room there was Apple White and Raven Apple was always a show off and you just hated her but didn’t know why.

Rumpelstiltskin Started to pour a bunch of things into the beaker making most of the class lost or confused with what they were trying to do. You had read chapter three it was basically a recap of chapter two but it was a potion for making a butterfly and you found it interesting so you new what you were doing even without Rumpelstiltskin’s horrible demonstration.

You put a bunch of this into the beaker while Apple had of course already done it perfectly and Raven somehow managed to make it as well somehow and you only had one more ingredient you put in the leafs and put came a black and red butterfly it matched you like how Ravens was purple and Apples was bright colors. “Well done miss White, Queen, and Quinn you will all get a B- as for the rest of you, YOU FAIL!” He always shouted even when you didn’t want him to it’s like it brought him joy to put you kids in pain to be fair it was quite funny though.

Everyone started to put there things away as you looked over at Dexter you saw his glasses were crooked and his hair was all spiked from the beakers exploding from the failed potion. Even when he looked like this he still looked perfect and you couldn’t wait to draw this photo of him in your book once you got to yours and Maddie’s dorm.

You made sure you had everything before leaving the room and heading to the dorms that was your last class you and Maddie walked together and as always she talked in riddles it was funny but you never really knew what most of them meant just her living up to her name of the mad hatter I guess. You reached your dorm and immediately Maddie said.

“So how did it go with Dexter I saw you talking today?” “He just asked for my notes it wasn’t a big deal okay.” She set her stuff down on her side of the room while you got out your sketch book to draw yet another picture of Dexter while you sat in your window thing you had. Raven walked in a few minutes into you drawing Dexter and said she needed you and Maddie to help her with something about Throwncoming and having to get back the story book of legends while she told her story you were able to finish your drawing and where ready to go you put your shoes back on and where oht the door following Raven and Maddie.

Cedar Wood came with you to the place that only came there on throwncoming you halfway listened to Baba Yaga about this place when she spoke about it earlier you never really cared your mom didn’t leave anything just the annoyance of having to live up too her which you didn’t want to do. Cedar used her truth glasses to find the story book of legends in the story book of legends ironic right I know you found the boom but when you touched it, it pulled all of you in Briar Beauty. Apple White, Raven Queen , Maddie Hatter, Blondie Locks, Cupid, Ashlyn Ella, Cedar Wood , and Faith Quinn all sucked into the story book of legends.

You all fell in a circle of standing books that also looked like the story book of legends all of them did. There was nine books just like there was nine of you but which story was whose you all decided that you were just going to go with the boom closest to you. When you went into the book you had to have been in Briars story sleeping for 100 years didn’t sound fun to you how hard could it be right just keep your finger off of the spindle and bam your done right? Talking to yourself in your head made you throw your hands up and prick your finger and all you saw was back after that.

Almost everyone else had made it back Briar felt bad for Raven about how her story went the only people left were you and Apple Briar guessed that Apple had her story and went after her and Maddie and Raven went to get you. Seeing as you had Briars story that meant Apple had your but what was taking her so long?

One second you were asleep and the next you had everyone but Apple and Briar looking down at you. “Am I dead or something?” They all laughed and said no “Wait where’s Briar and Apple?” Raven answered first “We don’t know Apple had your story and Briar thought she had her and so she went to get Apple but neither of them have come back out yet.” You were horrified you knew how your destiny ended and that was you drowning in acid like your mom was supposed to but since she married the joker you can marry your brother and would have no one to save you from it so you bolted towards the book that held your story hoping to wasn't to late for Apple and Briar.

When you got there they were still breathing and not in the acid to your surprise but instead unconscious on the floor. Then you saw your mom Harley Quinn holding her signature bat and the scroll you need to get from her what was this your worst nightmare happening right know. You didn’t want to see your mom ever again not after she tried to kill you when your dad died and here she was again trying it the same way. “Ah there you are I was waiting for when you were going to show up I like them you won’t be unconscious by the time we’re done you’ll be dead drowning in acid.”

You didn’t say anything but instead grabbed a crowbar that was on the ground. If there’s one thing your father taught you it’s to fight the right was and win hit them in the back of the knee then the pressure point in the neck knock them right out.

But you knew your mother would think you do that so instead you went for a headlock with the bar getting her to slightly lose some of her air but hey she won’t need it right she not real anyway. You held the bar to her neck till she stopped kicking you and focused on trying to breath the. You grabbed the scroll and threw her into the acid so she could t stop you from leaving again.

Soon enough you Briar and Apple were out of your story and everyone looked at you all weird you were coughing and so were Apple and Briar but only front eh loss of air. Apple looked at you for a second then told you “I am so sorry Faith no one should have to have a story like that.” Briar nodded agreeing with Apples statement just because they saw how your story ends doesn’t mean you were going to be all friends with them now no thank you. It before anyone could say anything you were all being pulled out of the book again but you all still had the pages.

it was a silent walk back until you wanted to know who had who’s story. “So who had what story?” Maddie spoke first almost sad and happy at the same time. “I had cupids and let me tell you it is not just all shoot arrows and fall in love not as fun as I thought it would be.” Then Blondie spoke “I had Maddie’s never going to her house on a holiday.” Maddie laughed and hugged Blondie. Then Raven. “I had Apples not the best way to almost die.” Apple looked up and even though you knew already said “I had Faiths and nothing is going to beat hers.” You rolled your eyes she was feeling sorry just because of a story how pathetic.

Briar looked up as well. “I had Ravens I am so sorry by the way I had no Idea.” Even Ashlynn who you forgot was there. “I had Cedars story never thought I would hate lying so much.” Everyone laughed at that. “Well at least you didn’t have Blondie’s she’s got a lot of running ahead of her.” Cedar said it as if it was nothing. Cupid went next. “I had Ashlyn’s never knew it felt like that to have the shoe on the other foot.” Then it was only you left. “Well I had Briars never thought I wouldn’t want to sleep again till know.” Turns out the pages were for Jilles Grimm’s curse and not the real storybook oh well at least now less time of having to have your destiny planed out for you.

And you were back at the castle thank god it was time for the Throwncoming dance but you weren’t going to go since all you would do is stand around and watch as everyone else danced. You and Maddie were walking back to your dorm room since she was going to go to the dance and you were going to stay there she wanted help to pick out a mad enough dress for her and by the time the dance came she looked as mad as ever (in the good way though). You were about to go to sleep when you realized your drawing book was missing you forgot to put it up before you left and now it’s not in the window thing.

You looked for it everywhere and then decided since it wasn’t in your stuff that you would ask Maddie if she new where it was. Faith waked down to where the dance was and instead of seeing Maddie like she wanted she say her drawing book in the hands of Duchess Swan on stage showing the drawings to everyone including Dexter. Before you could stop yourself you ran back to your dorm and hoped that no one saw you to save you more embarrassment never been more happy that I hate dances now.

What were you going to do you had classes tomorrow WITH DEXTER what would he think you can’t go no you can’t and you won’t. Maddie walked in after about another ten minutes of Faith thinking about what she was going to do but she had her sketchbook in hand and gave it back to her without saying a word. “I thought you might want it back I found it .” You looked at her amazed she lied to you. “Don’t lie I went looking for it and saw Duchess showing everyone the drawings.” You opened to book to find everything still the you left it thank god.

“You know since you didn’t come she didn’t get the reaction she wanted I only got the book because I got it out of her hands before the pictures of him sleeping.” “THANK YOU SO MUCH I FORGOT I DREW THOSE.” You practically screamed it at her. “Are you going to classes tomorrow or not?” Maddie knew the answer was most likely no but still wanted to ask. “I don’t even know anymore if I don’t Duchess gets what she wants and if I do then I have to face Dexter and everyone and we both know Hunters going to make fun of me for finding out who I like finally.” “Oh if Hunters what you then don’t worry he already knew.” “WAIT WHAT HOW?” “You told me and Cedar heard you say Dexter and so when Hunter asked her she has no choice but to tell the truth.” “Oh my god so he was just messing with me this whole time.” “Yeah pretty much. I’m going to bed now have a wondertastic night!” Maddie said before she fell asleep instantly when she touched her bed something I wish I could do. What am I going to do tomorrow Dexter knows. That what I stayed up thinking about all night till I just passed out.

A.N: I decided to make this a series last minute so maybe part two tomorrow or today I don’t know it almost three is I go to bed it’s past my time but hope you liked the story and more parts to come with smut I promise and more Dexter too 😜🤪.

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incarnateirony · 2 years

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i see 2p0 is suddenly pretending to be a ratings master six years behind, and he probably looks smart to the idiots that don't know any better than he does but bro you are fucking up reading those cards so hard.

"men dropped BEFORE the pilot" are you fucking high, it just means the show appeals to women more, it can't drop before the pilot. Women's 18-49 is the primetime demo. It takes 2 heads to make one male for the same demo, because more women watch primetime TV, so their ads are worth twice as much

This isn't rocket science patrick. we lost 3 of the top 50 markets. We have a diverse demographic. AA isn't impacted because the black sports demo isn't in those cities Kung Fu isn't heavily effected because it isn't the asian american centers either.

The show was always going to decline about 100K from viewership loss post premiere and probably about 0.02 demo. what you're making confused unga bunga noises about is "why when 5 million homes no can watch CW we lose 100k people? THINKING IS HARD."

stop trying to be me, you goddamn blowhard.

no seriously are you just now realizing that male and female demos both have different listings and values??? in late 2022??? as ratings almost go obsolete?

do you fucking think all the shows start all demos at 1.0 or something???? like everyone gets given a default line they fall from? That's not how this works dude. how are you not embarrassed to tweet "the demo fell BEFORE the pilot" full chested you utter slack jawed moron

and you're gonna sit there pretending to know what the fuck you're looking at with the loupgarou/rougarou mess or the entire "you denying everything this show has proven to be". You just wanna talk loud and pretend you can be me.

i KNOW you think you can just walk in and go "oh numbers i can do that" but yet again you are so over your head about what demos are, how they work, what they mean or indicate, things like demographic and population spreads, outtage impacts, skew, plus, timeslots, major markets and everything that influences this shit while you poke the charts and go "HM WHY NUMBER GO DOWN"

that's what your whole mess is. wanting so damn bad to be me. they say mimicry is the best form of flattery but damn you suck at it dude. Whether that be you denying the script or what the winchesters would be about, to being unga bunga confused on what's really basic math but you don't understand 90% of the equation.

what the fuck are you going to DO when walker's numbers also go down tonight from this (less, since you'll have cincinatti, but the other 2), and by next week nexstar fixes it, and we jump up? You realize this shit is real, right? Like it's happening, and time moves forward, so now while you hide running your mouth on the winchesters cuz you realize you failed out there, you're trying to do it about ratings but dude. Next week is a week away. you're T'ing yourself up to fail AGAIN

#ratings #2p0 shut up challenge.#no genuinely this time this is verifiably stupid #'men dropped before the pilot'#jesus christ why do you try so hard to mimic me

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ukrfeminism · 2 years

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Bright lights. Fun. Friendship. Clever marketing has made everything from bingo to slots feel more like a game than a gamble. But we are in the midst of a crisis. Jordan Page meets the young women who lost everything

Stacey slips her credit cards out of her purse and places them under a pillow. Her phone, now on airplane mode, joins them. She won’t touch them until morning. The pillow these prohibited items are hiding under is her girlfriend’s. They’re about to go to bed, and Stacey needs a physical barrier to stop her from reaching them in the night. She carefully follows this strict routine at the end of every month. Why? Because tomorrow is payday, and payday for the 29-year-old looks and feels worlds apart from that of most women her age. She’s addicted to gambling. The influx of money makes her anxious and transports her back to the ‘eight years of hell’ when gambling ruled her every move.

I’m not alone as I learn about this rigorous routine, though. Adopting the inside of her fridge as a makeshift ring light, Stacey also shares it with her 83,000 TikTok followers, who know her as The Girl Gambler. She’s using her platform to highlight a growing problem that few outside of her following even recognise: the UK’s female gambling crisis. Research by GambleAware has revealed that up to one million women in the UK could be at risk of gambling harm – but unless you’re one of those suffering, it’s likely you haven’t noticed it unfold. That’s because it’s rarely found in busy betting shops, but on mobile phones, hidden from view until it’s too late. So what do these addictions really look like, and why are so many women suffering? More importantly, is there anything that can be done to stop it?

Clutching her phone underneath her desk, Sophie scans the office before tapping a twinkling green button, reading ‘SPIN’. Yesterday, her manager warned that she spent too much time on her phone. A few weeks back, a business-wide email alerted that an employee was gambling on the company wifi when they shouldn’t be. But for Sophie, none of that matters. As she deposits her fourth £50 of the day on to the online slot machine, her heart races. She needs the cartoon leprechaun to tell her she’s won.

She’d first started gambling at 18 years old, when her ex-boyfriend gave her an introductory code for an online slot machine. ‘I feel awful blaming him, but that’s how it started,’ Sophie, now 29, admits. One of the most popular forms of online gambling, slots have the highest average losses per player of all digital gambling methods, according to research, while being one of the easiest to play. From the moment she entered that code, Sophie’s life was consumed. ‘It was easy to deposit £100, then another, then another,’ she says. ‘I thought the higher I bet, the more I could win.’

Over the next few years, Sophie did score the occasional win, but nothing could rival the debt her problem racked up. With the help of overdrafts, credit cards (the use of which are now prohibited in gambling) and 15 payday loans, Sophie owed nearly £20,000 – even pawning a family ring (which she managed to get back). ‘Traditional betting settings like bookmakers aren’t welcoming environments for women,’ says Anna Hemmings, CEO of GamCare, a charity providing support to people affected by gambling harm, and operator of the National Gambling Helpline. She explains that online gambling accounts for a quarter of the UK’s entire gambling market (according to the Gambling Commission), and British women have some of the highest participation rates in the world. ‘Online, it’s discreet. You can gamble anywhere, at any time, on your phone. It’s more accessible for women.’ As a result, the number of female gamblers contacting GamCare has been steadily increasing, and rose at double the rate of men between 2014 and 2019.

The lure of online anonymity is appealing even to those who started gambling in more ‘traditional’ senses, like Stacey who – at 18 – got a job in her local betting shop. Back then, she ‘didn’t have the foggiest’ about gambling. ‘My manager had to tell me what the Cheltenham races were,’ she laughs. She rarely saw women in the bookies, but Stacey dealt with men who had addictive habits every day. Watching them gamble away everything they had, she told herself she’d never put money into one of the machines.

A few short weeks later, Stacey caved. In need of change for her till, she visited a neighbouring bookies. Innocently standing before a flashing slot machine, curiosity took over and Stacey put a pound coin into the slot. Suddenly, coins poured out. It was the hook of that first win that she says led her to gamble whenever she had change – she’d never gamble with a note. ‘But after I brought in £25 worth of coins and lost it all, I broke that promise,’ she admits. Retrospectively shocked at how quickly her addiction developed, Stacey began spending £500 a day, taking buses to betting shops in nearby towns to avoid being seen. Soon she was enticed into the lair of online gambling, tempted by anonymity. ‘No one could stare at me online,’ Stacey tells me. ‘I was just a username that no one knew.’

Numb the pain away

‘When I was gambling, I didn’t feel anything else. I couldn’t hear anything. I was like a zombie,’ Stacey explains, thinking back to how she was lulled into an almost-soothing state of detachment by the apps. This is one of the key differences between male and female gambling, according to Liz Karter MBE. A female gambling expert and therapist, Karter has 22 years of experience treating women with addictions. For everyone, there’s the dopamine release (which, science has shown, is released for a win and a loss), but men, she says, are more attracted to the burst of adrenaline that fast-paced gambling (like sport and horse betting) offers, whereas women prefer repetitive games like slots and bingo. ‘The appeal is that it’s a form of self-medication,’ Karter states. Hemmings agrees and adds that GamCare helps women who gamble dangerously to escape from problems in their lives. Past trauma, poor mental health (it’s estimated that one in five women in England live with a mental health problem, compared with one in eight men – and that’s before the pandemic hit) or simply the daily stresses and expectations of being a woman today are enough to coax thousands into gambling. ‘Women feel overstimulated by everything that’s going on in their lives – gambling provides the numbing sensation that can put those negative emotions to sleep,’ explains Karter.

When Stacey put that first coin into the machine, she was in recovery for an eating disorder, and the soothing nature of gambling provided a distraction from her intrusive thoughts. ‘My hatred for myself stopped for a bit when I gambled,’ she says. ‘It would be grounding for me to go into that place of not feeling anything.’

As with all unhealthy distractions, gambling may mask pain momentarily, but it doesn’t solve the true problems, it only exacerbates them. After playing slot games for three years, Sophie realised the severity of her situation when she broke up with her ex and moved back in with her mum. ‘My mental health spiralled and I began suffering from anxiety… The pressure to win back that money became overwhelming.’ As calls from debt collectors escalated and the burden of hiding her addiction from loved ones intensified, Sophie’s panic culminated with a Google search. ‘I searched, “What happens to your debt if you kill yourself?”’ she recalls, her voice breaking. ‘I was at rock bottom. I felt like the only girl this was happening to.’

Stacey’s life revolved around gambling for eight years. Each pay cheque vanished into the depths of an app, even the £50,000 jackpot she won didn’t last a week. She gambled her girlfriend’s mortgage payments away and isolated herself from family and friends, making up ‘the most ridiculous lies’ to hide her problem. ‘It was the loneliest place in the world,’ she exhales. Similarly to Sophie, Stacey’s addiction cornered her into believing that suicide was the only escape. At her lowest, she attempted to take her own life. In a study published last year by City University, 14.5% of young women who had attempted suicide in the past year showed survey results indicative of problem gambling. ‘A lot of women feel there’s no other way out of their situation than their own death,’ explains Karter. As well as depression, panic attacks and suicidal thoughts, women she’s treated have suffered from an array of physical symptoms because of gambling-induced stress, from stomach ulcers to hair loss. And even though so many women suffer from these devastating repercussions, many feel like they have nowhere or no one to turn to for help.

Sharing the burden

Sitting in a stuffy church hall, Stacey’s eyes darted around the circle searching for a face like hers. Even if she couldn’t recognise someone her age, meeting another woman at her first Gamblers Anonymous (GA) meeting would have helped her feel less alone. But when she first sought help back in 2014, the 22-year-old found herself in a room surrounded by middle-aged men. Feeling self-conscious, she never went back. Support groups specifically for women now exist (albeit only two, in Manchester and London), but it wasn’t until Stacey – five years after that initial GA meeting – stayed at a Gordon Moody retreat that she finally felt seen. The charity offers a range of treatment options, having worked with gambling addicts for 50 years, including a women-only retreat. ‘I listened to these women talk about their experiences and I burst into tears,’ she recalls. ‘It was the first time that I didn’t feel alone.’ It was the turning point she needed. Stacey is now two and a half years gamble-free and, along with the TikTok community she’s created, she’s also written a book about her experiences. For Sophie, it was her Google search, terrified that death was the only way she could escape her debt, that became the catalyst that spurred her to get help. On the results page, she found an advert for StepChange, a charity that helps people manage and repay their debt. With its support, she paid off her debt over five years and – apart from a blip in lockdown – hasn’t gambled since.

As we talk, it’s difficult to ignore how frequently Sophie and Stacey refer to the shame their addictions made them feel because of their gender. GambleAware notes that this feeling prevents a quarter of women from seeking help. ‘Gambling is too often perceived as a male issue,’ says Hemmings. She argues that stereotyping gambling reinforces stigma, ultimately telling women that their addictions should remain hidden. This is also true of the myth that addictions only affect those who are working class. ‘If I had a pound for every time a woman walked into my practice and said, “You won’t believe what I do for a living,” I’d be very wealthy,’ says Karter. She asserts that at least half of the women she treats are middle-class professionals with no financial motivation to gamble. Even now when Sophie, who works as a demand planner, mentions her addiction, she’s repeatedly met with the response, ‘You don’t seem like the type.’ ‘It’s that kind of reaction that made me feel ashamed in the first place.’

In April 2019, Sweden made headlines when a survey revealed that the majority of the country’s gambling addicts were women. Problematic gambling needs to be tackled regardless of gender, age or class, but how can we prevent Sweden’s present from becoming our future? How do we remove the smog of stigma surrounding women with addictions, empower them to speak about their experiences and prevent more from falling victim to gambling harm? First, we must acknowledge that not everyone who gambles does so dangerously. In 2020, the Gambling Commission found that 47% of UK adults surveyed had gambled in the past four weeks, and initiatives and software like Gamstop and Gamban have been in place for years to help users self-exclude and ban sites from their devices. Both women I’ve spoken to insist that more needs to be done by online gambling companies (which made almost £7 billion last year, by the way). Stacey is calling for frequent prompts to drag users out of autopilot mode, while Sophie argues gamblers should be monitored for their first months using a site, being alerted when they spend too much money (and time) gambling. ‘And I don’t mean a pop-up you can dismiss with a click,’ she says. ‘If an actual human reached out and someone had no choice but to have a conversation, they’d reassess what they were doing.’ She goes further to suggest that sites should require proof of a user’s salary and outgoings to determine whether they can afford what they’re spending.

With over two decades of experience in the field, Karter has seen huge advances in the industry to prevent users from developing addictions, but still sees room for improvement – particularly in advertising. In a 2021 poll, YouGov found that nearly two-thirds of UK citizens supported a ban on gambling adverts online, on social media platforms and on TV before 9pm. Karter wants to see their frequency reduce, and stresses that the nature of advertisements needs to shift from portraying gambling as a joyous activity to something more honest. ‘It’s common to see adverts of women playing bingo together, laughing at a summer barbecue. This idea of community is attractive for women dealing with loneliness,’ she says. But as we’ve discovered, this isn’t accurate. ‘Gambling is done in isolation, and that false sense of community can be misleading.’

It’s this aspect I find most staggering. To stop us plummeting further into this crisis, the root of the problem needs to be addressed. The NHS received a record 4.3 million referrals for anxiety and depression last year, but even before the pandemic, many years of research suggest that women are especially likely to be affected by loneliness, depression and anxiety, and it’s time that something is done about it. While we wait to discover the long-term impact the past few years have had on mental health, for now, Stacey and Sophie are living proof that life exists beyond addiction, with Stacey herself becoming the very example she so desperately needed in her darkest hours. Hopefully, she can now inspire many more women to break free.

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