We werenât in the sanctified room itself, not around the sacred table under the Reaperâs glare, not with the gavel in Jaxâs hand or blood oaths carved into the air. But it was close enoughâthe next room, the war room, the common ground where patched men talked low and heavy. Voices braided together: shipments, debts, Oakland breathing down their necks, whispers of the Irish.
I shouldnât have been there. But when the hell had that ever stopped me?
I perched on the arm of a leather couch, legs crossed, heels dangling lazy, sipping from some brotherâs half-dead coffee cup. The bitter taste clung to my tongue. My smile was all sharp edges as I watched the club talk shop.
Jax leaned against the bar, arms folded, kutte hanging open. White shirt clung damp at the collar, sweat bleeding through where his muscles flexed. His jaw was clenched, a storm bottled inside him, blue eyes half-hidden under that blond mop. Tension rolled off him like heat waves.
I barely caught half of what was saidâuntil one voice cut clean.
Rico. Fucking prospect.
âSo, if weâre talking outsidersâŠâ he muttered, the smirk in his tone slick as oil. âShould Roxy even be here?â
Silence fell like a blade.
Every head swung Jaxâs way. Then mine.
I sipped slow, eyes half-lidded. âDonât mind me.â
âShe knows more about our business than half of you,â Jax said, voice low, dangerous.
That shouldâve ended it. I shouldâve let it drop.
But my blood ran hotter than my sense.
âAwww,â I purred, dragging every vowel, lashes batting as my lips curved. âLook at that. My protector. Guess being inside me buys me some respect.â
Chuckles. Some strained. Some sharp enough to cut. A throat cleared. Air thick with unease.
Thenâ
CRACK.
The bottle Jax had been holding shattered against the bar.
And then he was moving. A streak of leather and fury before my brain even caught up.
I scrambled to standâhalf to meet him, half to get awayâbut it was too late. His hand fisted in my shirt, yanking me forward so fast the cup flew from my hand. Breath punched out of my lungs.
He spun me, slammed me chest-first against the wall in the narrow hallwayâlong stretch, broken light, blind angle that led to the back rooms. My palms slapped drywall. My cheek scraped plaster.
He pressed in close, body heat searing through denim and leather, one hand planted by my head, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. His breath scalded my ear.
âYou think that was funny?â he hissed, voice shredded.
My pulse pounded. Pussy pulsed harder. I darted my gaze back, catching just enoughâopen doorway, three brothers on the couch, one still sipping his beer. They couldnât see us. But they knew.
My lips curled, my voice a knife. âYou gonna scold me like a good little president?â I shifted back against him, rolling my hips into his.
His growl was pure animal.
âYou wanna be used?â he snarled. âFine.â
His hand dove between my thighs, yanking my skirt up, panties shoved aside so roughly the seam bit into my skin. Fingers slid through slick heat.
âSoaked,â he spat, voice half disbelief, half hunger. âYouâre fucking soaked for this.â
My breath hitched, sharp as glass. âYou started it.â The words came out jagged, trembling, more confession than defiance.
He ripped his hand back, wet fingers gleaming, and then I heard itâthe belt buckle clanging, zipper tearing down. A sound louder than the voices just yards away. Louder than my heart in my ears.
Hands to the wall. Feet spread. Body trembling.
Thenâhis cock slammed into me in one brutal, merciless thrust, burying to the hilt.
âAhhhhâf-fuck!â My hand flew to my mouth to muffle the scream. My body seized, stretched, clenching hard around him.
He didnât give me a breath. Hips snapped forward again, slamming me into the wall with each thrust, drywall rattling, obscene slap of flesh echoing down the hallway. His hand shoved up my shirt, gripping my breast rough, thumb pinching my nipple until I bucked against him.
âThis how you want the club to see you?â His voice was jagged, gravel deep. âBent over the wall, dripping around my cock like a little whore?â
Tears stung my eyes as I bit down on my knuckles, muffling the moan that tore from my chest. Shame and heat tangled, burning me alive. My cunt clenched harder, wetter, sucking him in with every punishing thrust.
âI should drag you into the chapel,â he gritted, hips bruising me. âFuck you over the table where they vote life and death.â
My laugh was a gasp, a sob. âDo it.â
He barked a mean chuckle, breath hot on my neck. âNot done with this wall yet.â
The rhythm grew savage. His cock carved me open, every thrust a battering ram. The drywall thudded with each hit. Voices in the other room faltered. One brother cleared his throat. Another shifted in his seat. The silence thickened.
âThey know,â Jax whispered, teeth scraping my ear. âThey know what Iâm doing to you. You hear it? You feel it?â
Then his hand slid down, fingers finding my clit, rubbing tight vicious circles. My whole body arched, muscles seizing, nails clawing at the wall.
âAhhhhnnnâohhh godââ My orgasm ripped through me, brutal and humiliating, cunt spasming around him so hard his hips stuttered.
âFuckkkââ he groaned, but didnât stop. His forearm braced across my back, holding me down, cock drilling harder, faster, chasing his edge.
âYou push me too far,â he snarled, sweat dripping from his chin onto my skin. âAlways pushing.â
âAnd youâlove itââ I gasped, throat raw.
His body jerked, cock driving deep, and then he brokeâgroaning low, guttural, as hot cum spilled inside me, each pulse filling me so deep my eyes rolled back.
For a heartbeat the world was still. My legs jelly. My panties ruined. My cunt stretched and wrecked.
Then his lips brushed my ear again. Voice a razor.
âGo back out there like this. Let âem smell me on you.â
I turned my head just enough to catch his eyes. Feral. Spent. Beautiful. Mine.
âYouâre a sick fuck,â I whispered, wrecked.
His grin cut like glass. âTakes one.â
When he pulled out, it was with a wet, obscene sound, cum dripping hot down my thighs. He tugged my skirt back into place like nothing had happened, zipped up, and strode off like a king.
I stood there ten seconds longer, breathing ragged, skin fevered. Then my heels clicked against the floor as I stepped back into the common room.
Every head turned.
No one spoke.
But the silenceâit was deafening. It was everything.
The scenes I write here would be everything you could be dreaming of or want out of life. I hope you will take the time to read them and see if you want to send me some requests to.
Works Below
đ Request Rules â What I Write
đ ïž Sons of Anarchy â Jax Teller
Feral Devotion
Jax is wild, raw, and worships her like a storm he
đ âThey Donât Chase Crowns⊠They Inherit Them.â
The crowd had been chanting all night â
âWHO ARE YOU?â
Like a warning.
Like a dare.
The answer came in patent leather.
Mizâs theme hit.
He walked out like he owned the show â
designer suit, too-clean grin, mic already in hand.
The boos rolled in. He bathed in them.
âCut the music.
Let me do what AEW management canât seem to pull offâŠâ
He adjusted his jacket, slow and deliberate. Turned his head just enough to meet the hard cam.
ââŠand thatâs properly introduce the most dangerous force in womenâs wrestling today.â
Heat. Louder now. He smirked.
âYouâre welcome.
Because without meâ
without The Mizâ
you wouldnât even see them.â
He leaned into the ropes, taunting the fans echoing their chant back at him:
âWHO ARE YOU?â
âWHO ARE YOU?â
âWho are they?â
(he chuckled)
âTheyâre the future you donât deserve.
But youâre gonna get them anyway.
Because I negotiated the greatest contract this company has ever seen:
No repackaging.
No betrayals.
No stupid face turns.
Just bloodline.
Just dominance.
Just legacy.â
The lights cut.
Silence hit like a gut punch.
Then:
bass-heavy tribal drums â slow, rhythmic, heartlike.
Red spotlights flared once⊠twice⊠three times.
Smoke curled at the stage like something was rising from the ashes.
And out they walked.
đ„ The Ones Enter
Mai Reigns, draped in gold and steel, eyes fixed forward like a queen already sitting on her throne
Malia Fatu, smirking like fire lived in her lungs, pacing with heat in her shoulders
Talisua Fatu, ice-cold stare, expression unreadable, every step calculated
Three women. One purpose.
They didnât look at Miz.
They didnât look at the crowd.
They just walked â slowly â into the ring, silent as gravity.
Miz stepped back, just enough to let them form a wall behind him.
âLadies and gentlemen⊠bow down to the true heirs of this business.â
âThe Empress â Mai Reigns.
The Firestarter â Malia Fatu.
The Silent Storm â Talisua Fatu.â
âTogetherâŠ
they areâŠ
The Ones.â
The crowd roared â part awe, part disbelief, part fear.
A "HOLY SH*T" chant cracked through the noise like thunder.
And thenâŠ
âDMD.â
đ„ Britt Bakerâs Interruption
The crowd exploded as Britt stormed the ramp â Toni Storm and Willow flanking her like backup in a street fight.
Her boots hit the steel hard. Her mic came up faster than her breath.
âYouâve gotta be kidding me.â
âYou show up here with Hollywood money and daddyâs name and you think youâre running our division? AEW wasnât built for you â and it sure as hell isnât giving anything to you.â
The Ones didnât flinch.
Malia laughed â loud, reckless, amused.
Talisua took one step forward. Just one.
The crowd leaned in.
ThenâŠ
Mai raised her hand.
Malia froze mid-step. Talisua halted mid-breath.
Silence fell like a blade.
Mai stepped forward, slow and composed, her voice low and clean like steel through velvet.
âYou donât get it.â
(She looked at Britt. Through her.)
âYouâre not the division.
Youâre the leftovers.â
Beat. Not a single breath in the arena.
âWe didnât come to join you.â
âWe came to bury you.â
She lifted one finger.
The other two followed. Miz, just behind, raised his brows â smirking like a man who already won.
Miz (low, smug):
âLadies⊠gentlemenâŠ
and Britt Baker especiallyâŠ
Get used to the view.â
(beat â the camera leaned in tight)
âBecause these three?
They donât chase crowns.â
(smirk)
âThey inherit them.â
đ” Exit:
The Ones turned first.
Slow, synchronized. Unbothered. Undisputed.
Miz followed like a kingmaker in perfect stride.
In the ring, Britt stared after them like fire waiting for oxygen.
Toniâs jaw was set. Willowâs fists were already clenched.
Commentary (barely breathing):
âThey just declared war on the womenâs division.
And The MizâŠ
The Miz is their mouthpiece?â
The training room was empty except for the buzz of fluorescent lights and the slow drip of a broken pipe near the far wall.
Asuna sat on the bench, tying the laces of her boots with steady fingers.
Bakugo stood near the door like a fuse with nowhere to burn, arms crossed, eyes locked on her like he was waiting for something â or someone â to explode.
âStop lookinâ at me like that,â he snapped, voice sharp enough to draw blood.
Asuna didnât flinch. âLike what?â
He scowled harder, if that was even possible.
âLike Iâm not broken.â
(She paused, just for a second â enough for him to catch it.)
âYou look at everyone like that,â he muttered. âBut when itâs me, itââ
(His voice cracked, subtle but real. He turned away. Fists clenched.)
âIt makes me want to prove you right.â
(beat)
âAnd I hate that.â
He faced her again, something raw behind the explosion-colored eyes.
âI hate how much I want to be good enough for the way you see me.â
(Her eyes softened. She didnât speak.)
âSo quit doing it,â he said.
(beat)
âOr donât. Just⊠donât stop.â
He took a breath like it hurt.
â'Cause if you ever stop looking at me like that⊠I donât know what the hell Iâll turn into.â
âYour Quirkâs dangerous,â Hawks said, his voice too casual for the truth it carried.
Asuna glanced at him from the rooftop ledge where she sat, legs dangling over the edge of the city. Lights below flickered like distant stars â cold and out of reach.
âSoâs yours,â she murmured, arms wrapped loosely around her knees.
He tilted his head, feathers ruffling as a breeze passed between them. âYeah, but mine doesnât make people fall in love with me.â
(beat)
âAt least not on accident.â
Her lips parted, a protest forming â but he cut her off, stepping closer, hands in his pockets.
âDonât get me wrong. Itâs not your fault. âHaloâ does the heavy lifting, right?â
(he crouched beside her now, voice dipping lower)
âBut Iâve seen how people look at you. How they forget to breathe when you smile.â
She didnât speak. Just stared at the sky, as if the stars might give her a different answer than the one rising between them.
âThey want to save you,â Hawks said. âEven when theyâre the ones who need saving.â
(beat)
âIâm not immune to it, Asuna.â
His voice was quiet now, rough around the edges.
âAnd I hate not knowing if itâs you I wantâŠ
or the part of me that wants to be wanted.â
She turned to face him, eyes searching his like she was daring him to lie.
âAnd what do you think?â
He held her gaze. Didnât blink.
âI think Iâd fall for you even if your Quirk never worked again.â
(He stood then â fast, too fast â and gave her a smile that didnât reach his eyes.)
Rain hit the alley like a drumbeat, neon bleeding through puddles while jazz wept from a busted speaker down the block.
Spike had seen a lot of bounty hunters.
None of them wore a red jacket like her.
Roxanna stepped from the shadows with smoke on her breath and precision in her hands. Twin pistols sang before the punk could even scream â one shot disarmed, the other crippled. Clean. Efficient. Beautiful, if you liked danger dressed in leather and secrets.
She didnât flinch. Didnât smile. Just said:
âNameâs Roxanna. See you around, cowboys.â
Hours later, she docked on the Bebop like a storm that refused to announce itself. Jasmine and gunpowder in the air. A ship shaped like a blade.
Even Faye looked twice. Ed was already singing.
And Spike? He lit a cigarette and stared too long.
He shouldâve known better.
But then again, when had he ever made smart choices about women who could kill him?
âThat new bounty hunterâŠâ
âRoxanna.â
âRight. She yours?â
Spike took a drag from his cigarette. Didnât answer.
Just blew smoke out the side of his mouth and said,
âSheâs nobodyâs.â
Faye scoffed from across the room. âCouldâve fooled me. She walks in here like sheâs already earned her keep.â
âMaybe she has,â Jet muttered, polishing a pistol without looking up. âSheâs good.â
âSheâs dangerous,â Faye bit back. âThatâs different.â
Ed poked her head up from under the table. âShe talks like shadows and shoots like thunder! Boom boom pow!â
Jet grunted. âSheâs precise. And she doesnât miss.â
Faye rolled her eyes. âAnd yet somehow, Spikeâs the one watching her like sheâs a cigarette he forgot to finish.â
Spike leaned against the doorframe, eyes half-lidded, voice low.
âSome people walk into your life like a storm.
OthersâŠ
like a reminder you never put the fire out.â
He flicked his ash and walked off.
Faye stared after him.
âAnd what the hell does that mean?â
Ed just giggled. âIt means the cowboyâs gonna get burned~!â
Asuna Yagi â daughter of All Might, healer with a Quirk that makes people love her. Not admire. Not respect.
Love. Obsessively. Irrationally. Desperately.
They call it âHeartFlare.â
A glow that pulls people close. A smile that makes them stay.
She saves lives with a touch, and loses herself one piece at a time.
UA trained her like a symbol. The League wants to break her like one.
And somewhere between late-night rooftop confessions and missions that never make the newsâŠ
She learns what it means to be wanted for real.
Not for the power. Not for the last name.
For her.
They never understood what âWe the Onesâ meant â not really.
Not until the silence cracked wide open.
She didnât walk into AEW like a challenger.
She stepped into a ring built on legacy, laced with expectation â
a battlefield made of bones, waiting to break.
Mai. Malia. Tai.
These arenât just names.
Theyâre declarations.
No stumbles behind the curtain.
No weak links waiting to snap.
Every glance cuts. Every move dares.
Steel in their hands. Fire in their veins.
The lights dim.
Not for drama â for reverence.
A hush settles, heavy with knowing.
Iâve been sick since August 23. Itâs September 1 now. I was so ill I even had to go to the hospital. Iâve only been off work for four days, and you would think in a time like this my family â my blood, the people who are supposed to care for me â would support me, or at least show they love me. But instead, they want me to pay them just to stay home.
They tell me itâs my fault I got sick. My fault for not having the insurance to cover everything. They donât care if the medicine makes me sick â they say I donât need to take it every 12 hours, just take half now and half later. As if my health doesnât matter, as if itâs not serious.
What hurts most is the way they treat me, like Iâm dumb. Like I donât understand âhow the world works,â when really what theyâre showing me is that in their world, money matters more than family, more than love, more than helping someone when theyâre down.
All they seem to care about is the money I give them. They say the bills still have to be paid, and if I canât work, then thatâs my problem. Basically, theyâve made it clear: if I get sick and canât keep up, then Iâll end up on the street. And no one is going to come save me.
So here I am, alone, realizing that the people I thought would care for me donât. It hurts. But at least I can tell the truth about it here.
Thank you everyone who has been loving and liking all my post. I love to see them. They make me feel so happy to see people love the idea that comes out of my head. I was sick in the hospital for a few days so hopefully I will be able to make more creative stories.
What happens when a werewolf enforcer falls for a witch powerful enough to scare vampires?
Atlas left his Colorado pack for love. Yuki turned her back on leading her own coven for freedom. Together, they're building something the supernatural world has never seenâa relationship that crosses every line, breaks every rule, and threatens every tradition.
But hiding their love in a world that forbids interspecies relationships is killing them both.
When a vampire confrontation forces Yuki to reveal her devastating elemental powers, they realize they can't keep living in the shadows. Enter Havenwoodâa mysterious Pacific Northwest sanctuary where werewolves, vampires, witches, and humans coexist openly.
One application. One chance. One town that could change everything.
Atlas is seven feet of protective werewolf energy who calls Yuki his "pack of two." Former enforcer turned devoted partner, covered in wolf tattoos that tell his life story. He'll plan every detail to keep her safeâbut can't interfere when her magical family comes calling.
But getting into Havenwood means facing a council interview, navigating supernatural politics, and proving their business plan can serve everyone from vampire councilwomen to centaur nature-lovers.
And that's before Yuki's terrifyingly powerful witch family discovers where she's hiding...
đźđ„ Looking for Collaborators for a Visual Novel Project! đ„đź
Hey everyone! I'm currently working on a visual novel called No Saints in Charming â a crossover fanfiction-inspired game combining the worlds of Sons of Anarchy and Peaky Blinders. It's gritty, emotional, character-driven, and full of high-stakes family drama, romance, loyalty, and violence.
đ„ Why This Matters:
This is more than just fanservice. Itâs a fully plotted, character-rich narrative with emotional depth, worldbuilding, and choices that matter. It explores loyalty, love, power, identity, and what it means to survive when you come from legacy and violence.
đš What Iâm Looking For:
I'm currently seeking someone whoâs familiar with or willing to work in Ren'Py, Unity (VN style), or Visual Novel Maker to help bring this to life. Iâm open to hobbyists, students, or creators who just want to be part of something cool.
âš Iâm funding this myself, so the budget is small â but Iâm willing to work something out for your time (a modest fee or revenue share if the game performs well). Everyone involved will receive full credit and support. This is a passion project with serious heart, and I want it to shine.
đź What I bring:
Story. Character design. Full written scenes. Art references. Branding. Planning. Writing is nearly complete for the opening act and key arcs.
đ€ If you're someone (or know someone) whoâd love to join a storytelling project with crime, romance, betrayal, and ride-or-die energy â hit me up.
I don't know about you guys but i love this pictures so much. It's super cute at least I think so.
Yo! You Actually Found My Services Page đ
Okay, first offâheck yes, youâre here. Seriously, it means a ton that youâre poking around to see what I can cook up for you. This is where my love for creative chaos turns into actual, usable stuff for other writers, artists, and daydreamers chasing their next big idea.
So, Whatâs On The Menu?
AI Art Covers That Actually Pop Off
Alright, letâs be real. Youâve seen those covers that look like a template from 2002. Weâre not doing that. You bring me your wildest ideaâmoody fantasy hero, swoony romance, space cats with laser eyes (hey, no judgment)âand Iâll wrangle the AI magic to make a cover that actually 'stops' people mid-scroll. Basically, your bookâs gonna look hot, not half-baked.
Blurbs That Donât Suck
Ever try to sum up your story and end up sounding like youâre ordering at Subway? Been there. Iâll take your tangled plot and turn it into a blurb that yanks people in and leaves âem wanting the rest ASAP. Novels, fanfics, blogs, your D&D campaign diaryâif it needs words, Iâve got you.
Story Critiques That Donât Feel Like a Roast
Look, Iâm not here to rip your work to shreds or butter you up with fake praise. You get honest, friendly feedbackâthink âsupportive pal who actually cares,â not âhigh school English teacher with a red pen and a vendetta.â Iâll hype up whatâs working and nudge you on what could be even stronger. Youâll walk away pumped, not crushed.
Document Typing (Because, Yeah, Lifeâs Messy)
Handwritten stuff everywhere? Notes in your phone, scribbles on napkins, scanned PDFs from 2010? Same. Iâll turn that chaos into clean, digital docs, no sweat. Perfect for anyone who still likes doodling on paper but needs stuff online.
I game. A lot. Still obsessed with Final Fantasy XV (donât @ me, Noctis deserved the world) and the Tales series. These games basically fuel my brain and sneak into my writing whether I mean it or not.
Oh, and Iâm constantly hunting down new coffee shops or plotting my next mini adventure. Sometimes itâs a random road trip, sometimes itâs just wandering the city. All those vibes, they end up in my storiesâintentional or not.
Real Talk: Why Your Support Matters
Making art takes time, caffeine, and the occasional meltdown. If you commission me or toss a coffee my way on Ko-Fi, youâre not just buying a serviceâyouâre helping a fellow creative keep the lights on and the inspiration flowing.
Every gig lets me travel more, upgrade my setup, and get better at what I do. Plus, I learn something new with every single project. Seriously, your support means more than you know.
Whether you need a killer cover, want someone to hype up (or polish) your story, or just wanna chip in because you like my vibeâthank you. Big time.
Letâs Make Cool Stuff Happen
This isnât just a business thing. I wanna collab, get to know your vision, and make sure what we create feels so âyouâ it hurts.
Wanna chat about your project? Hit me up! I swear, weâll have fun and end up with something awesome.
Thanks for stopping by and thinking of me for your creative shenanigans. Now, come onâletâs make some magic. đ
âThe world doesnât ask for permission to be beautiful. It just is.â
I came across this image and couldnât stop staring. That kind of quiet, glowing magic where the world slips into stillness for just a moment. The way the cliffs cradle the cove like a secret. The way the sun bleeds into the sea. It almost doesnât feel real â like the kind of place you only find in dreams or RPGs.
But if you're wondering where something like this could actually exist? Youâd probably be looking at Navagio Beach in Zakynthos, Greece or maybe the cliffs along the Amalfi Coast in Italy. That intense cerulean water, fiery sky, and rugged beauty scream Mediterranean paradise â the kind of hidden gem you reach by foot or boat, just in time for golden hour.
Places like this remind me why I want to travel more. Why I want to feel the wind off the cliffs, the warmth of sunset on my skin, the salt in the air. Not just scroll past it.
Iâm making a list of places like this â not just to visit, but to write about. To turn into stories. Maybe Iâll find this cove one day⊠or maybe Iâll build one in a book and live there in my own way.
âš Tag me if youâve ever been somewhere that looked like this. Or if youâve seen it in a dream. Or a game. I wanna know.