#[ deleted post; not visible IC ]

[millenniumdueled]

I'm getting ready to head home from Téa's... And to give the phone and our body back to my Partner. I ask that after the next... 10 minutes or so, none of what came up tonight is spoken of again. At least, not until he gets the chance to hear it all from me. I will be deleting some posts as she drives me home...

Thank you. Everyone who has talked to me tonight, who has listened to me. Who has vowed to help me keep this break in my promise a secret. Who has helped me lessen the shock of tonight's revolutions...

I only hope that I can repay it all someday.

#t. #[ deleted post; not visible ic ]

[saltspill]

now i'm definitely gonna get fired.....

#[ deleted post ] #[ not visible ic ] #ugh #t.

[capucapo]

FORGET IT !!!!!!!!!! I didn't REALLY want to play anyway!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#t. #[deleted post] #[not visible ic]

[suuuupernovaaa]

Accident

Timothee accidentally posts a picture of you, blowing your cover.

The panic sets in like ice flowing through your veins. A tingling at your fingertips shoots straight into your heart. Your eyes are wide, your palms are sweaty. It takes you a few seconds to open up FaceTime and dial his number.

He answers right away.

“Timothee, what did you do?” you ask, your voice low in case he isn’t alone. Your boyfriend is never alone.

The smile he had upon answering fades into something dark. “What?” he asks.

“Instagram,” you reply. “Look at your instagram story.”

When he disappears, you do too, going back to the story. It’s a picture of you perched on a stone wall, looking down the side of a mountain Timothee and you had just hiked. You hadn’t even known he’d just taken it. Your hair was stuck to your neck with sweat, and only part of your face is visible over your shoulder, as you turn to look at him.

His hand is on your shoulder, gripping tightly, possessively, and a hint of a smile plays at the half of your face that’s visible.

You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, an old, plain black one, and the sunset ahead of you makes the picture look like art.

Maybe no one will assume, or wonder. Timothee isn’t even really in it. Just hand.

“Shit, Y/N,” he says, and you swipe back to FaceTime. “Should I delete it?”

“Um… no. Well, maybe. I think people will talk more if you delete it. Maybe just leave it?”

It’s not like he tagged you. You’re not in his following list, because no one is. You’re a total unknown.

“Okay,” he says, the panic in his voice subsiding. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “You don’t have to be sorry. It was an accident. And you can’t hide me forever.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re hiding you. I’m protecting you.”

A soft smile crosses your lips. “I know.”

He winks. “I gotta go, but I’ll have management keep an eye on things online. Call me after work?”

You nod and he blows you a kiss before hanging up.

—

Boy, were you wrong. You’ve been wrong about some things in your life, but never something this big.

They’ve found your instagram, Facebook, and LinkedIn within two hours. You’re getting dozens of requests by the minute, and you’ve never been more grateful to have your socials private before.

The workday passes in a blur of buzzing on your phone. Most of it is follow requests on instagram, but the rest is your friends and family sending you articles about Timothee Chalamet’s ‘mystery girl revealed’.

Timothee Chalamet & the Lawyer from NYC

Timothee Chalamet’s Secret Lover

Timmy’s girlfriend: we talked to her childhood best friend!

It’s endless and you start requesting they stop sending all the nonsense your way. Your mom calls to ask if you’re okay, and your actual best friend reminds you that you knew this day would come, and she’s here for you.

The comments on his latest instagram post are hard to look away from.

user he’s dating that sweaty beast?

user she looks happy!

user who the hell is she???

user FAT GIRLFRIEDN??

reply to user fuck off with your misspelled fatphobia

Eventually, you put your phone on DND to finish your day. The subway ride home is uneventful, and as soon as you set foot in your modest apartment, you call Timothee.

“Well,” he says as an answer, “now I might have to say sorry.”

Despite the stress of the day, you have to laugh. “Maybe. But, this was going to happen anyway. Though one article called me a ‘social climbing hussy’ and I didn’t love that.”

You throw your bag onto the kitchen table and put your boyfriend on speaker phone so you can find something to order for dinner. This day calls for Thai, or maybe Indian.

“Don’t read that shit, Y/N,” he huffs. “None of it matters. I’m like, really sorry people are going to bother you now. But I’m not sorry that everyone is going to find out how in love and happy I am.”

Your cheeks heat, even though he can’t see you. It hasn’t even been a year, but Timothee is already the most special and wonderful thing in your life, and it’s no wonder when he says things like that.

“I wish you were here,” you sigh.

“Me too. Only a few more days.”

—

You stashed your phone in your room to charge, and to avoid, and turned on the TV. Sitting cross-legged in front of your coffee table in your most comfortable pajamas, you’re about to dig in to the most delicious spread of Indian cuisine when the door buzzes.

Could they have found your address?

You get up and press the speaker. “Let me in! You’re not answering your phone!”

Your heart skips a beat and you’re unable to even respond as you hit the button that unlocks the front door. You stand frozen in shock until three loud knocks sound at the door.

Once it’s open, there he stands, and he’s not empty handed. He’s got what looks to be two dozen beautifully arranged roses along with a giant bag full of what you assume is chocolate and candy.

You grab him by the collar and pull him to you, wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him, and the scent of him erases every bad thing that’s happened in the past 12 hours.

It’s worth it, your mind whispers.

He sets the flowers and gifts down on the kitchen counter. “I did something, and I don’t know if you’re going to like it, but let me explain,” he says, a wincing smile on his lips.

You bring his face to yours for a quick kiss. “I don’t care. I’m so glad you’re here.”

He takes out his phone and hands it to you. It’s unlocked already, and instagram is open.

He’s made a new post, and your heart flutters.

It’s a picture from a few months ago, taken at a friend’s house. You’re sitting on the kitchen counter, and Timothee stands between your legs, both of you laughing, his hands in your hair and yours on his hips. You hadn’t even known your friend had taken it at the time, but it’s been his phone background ever since, he loves it so much.

The caption is simple. “Happy.”

Your reaction surprises you as tears gather in your eyes. “They’re going to really come after me now.”

“I know. And I am sorry. But, Y/N, I know privacy is important to us both… but sometimes, I just want to talk about how happy I am. I think we can find a balance.”

He wipes a tear from your eye.

“I’m proud to be yours, Timothee,” you reply, and his smile stretches ear to ear. “Really, really proud. I love you. I just want to be careful, okay?”

He kisses your nose, then each cheek, and pulls you into a tight embrace. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this, Y/N,” he whispers, and you squeeze him tight.

You’ll navigate this together.

#timothee chalamet fic #timothee x reader #timothee Chalamet #Timothee imagine

[16woodsequ]

NOT THE CABIN!!!!

your first headcanon is my canon because from agents of shield it sounds like steve lived in the cabin soon after he came out of the ice, and by the time the battle of new york comes around it's already been a year. he must have felt so lost and unwanted and abandoned when they took him to a place like that 😭

steve being stressed out when he meets the avengers because he doesn't want to be forced back to the cabin oh my god. i have to think about this nonstop for the rest of the year i look forward to rejoining society in 2025

the fact that shield/hydra had this cabin as well as that armoured van with supersoldier-sized shackles is so unsettling AAHH

(response to this post)

HEHEHEHE When I tell you I cackled getting this ask, because I love spreading Steve-cabin angst!!

I agree! It does sound like Steve went to the cabin soon after the ice. (Although I headcanon that Avengers was actually very soon after Steve woke up, I know the wake up scene was in a movie released in 2011 and the movies are supposed to happen when they were released, but in some of the deleted scenes for Avengers Steve is confused about wi-fi and he's looking over files of the dead Howling Commandos and his apartment is so bare, and just the way he acts like he hasn't been out for long, I tend to headcanon Avengers is soon after he came out of this ice. But! That doesn't really change the cabin headcanon, besides shoving two traumatic things closer together.)

Either way I think the cabin has a huge impact on Steve in Avengers. I think it's part of why he acts the way he does, and why he's repressing everything so much and playing the role of Captain America Super Soldier. Is it no wonder Steve reactions to Coulson's death the way he does? Tony is visibly upset and lashes out because he thinks Steve is acting like he should brush it off because their soldiers (Is this the first time you've lost a soldier? We're not soldiers) but I think Steve was equally effected, especially since Fury threw the bloody baseball cards in as a further emotional barb. But Steve keeps everything inside. He keeps it all locked down, and I have got to believe it's partially due to his experience with the cabin and whatever kind of twisted mental health screening he got from SHIELD after coming out of the ice.

He's not about to give anyone any more reason to send him back to the cabin to help him adjust to the future. I think that cabin had a profound impact on Steve's willingness to reach out to people and I think it made him reflexively cling to the only other option he was presented with: SHIELD. Which is exactly what SHIELDRA wanted.

Anyway, if you want an in depth look at cabin angst, I just finished a fic about it: Ice and Empty Spaces. Eventually this will lead to a Tony and Steve friendship, but first, angst.

#this kind of turned into a ramble #but i hope you enjoy #i could rant about the cabin and SHIELDRA's goals with it and its impact on Steve all day #steve rogers #the terrible horrible no good very bad cabin #the retreat #the cabin #steve rogers has ptsd #steve rogers needs a hug #asks

[mayullla]

Title: Soft Comfort

Character(s): Zhongli, Qiqi, Baizhu (Genshin Impact)

Summary: Part 3, cult au, gold blood au; You finally woke up, tired and your voice raw. The slimes are delighted that you were finally awake and so were Baizhu and Qiqi.

Note: I by mistake deleted the original post ;-; so this is a repost.

Warnings/tags: Fem!reader, child!reader, cult themes, yandere / obsessions themes

The Child with Gold Blood masterlist

You woke up tired and confused, looking around you didn’t recognize this place.

The room was simple… a few beds, a table in the middle of the room, a few chairs and minimal decoration nothing fancy. You were soon hit with the smell of medicine and herbs with the smell of flowers too, looking to the side you saw a bedside table and on top was a vase filled with violet grass.

You looked around curious if you were alone and if there was anybody here when something blocked your vision, two very round eyes stared at you surprising you. “Ahh.” You said in surprise, your voice small and husky as if you didn’t use it for a long time.

It was the small anemo slime, which was jumping all over the place on your bed almost as if excited just to see you. It jumped off the bed, hopping to the other slimes who were sleeping in a pile on the carpet only to hit them and scatter them like bowling pins.

The other slimes jumped in surprised from being suddenly hit and the pyro smile grew hot as if it was angry that it was rudely awakened like that till all of them paused and saw you….

awake…

You smiled unable to laugh as your voice was dry and itchy even tho you want to. The small little guys just all rushed to you as if nothing could come in their way.

More jumping and tumbling occurred as if they were all in a panic. In the middle of the chaos, the cryo slime and hydro smile bump into each other midjump causing the hydro slime to turn into ice, while a dedro slime was visibly squashed by the geo slime as it used its friend as a jumping platform by mistake.

The geo slimes was first by your side, they bounced and jiggled as if to show you how happy they were that you finally woke up and clung to your side.

“What happened…?” You whined as your voice hurt from talking. You tried to remember what happened, but it was fuzzy.

It probably must be because of the noises that the slimes were making that Baizhu walked into the room to quiet them down so that the patients who were looking for their medicine and customers would not notice the ruckus and then find out that the pharmacy was housing slimes-

“Would you please quiet d-” He looked at you wide awake sitting up on the bed. It was as if time froze for a few seconds when he closed the door so that others can’t peek into the room and walked up to you taking a chair with him. “How are you feeling?” Baizhu asked worriedly, as he took a seat on the chair that he dragged to your side of the bed. It made you giggle a little that he suddenly swapped his attitude from annoyance to worry.

You shook your head, still too tired to really properly answer. Baizhu chuckled, taking the water container he poured water on a cup giving it to you. “Here it has been a few days since you fainted. You must be really thirsty.” Taking the cup the moment water hit your lips you started to try chugging the whole thing as quick as possible.

Baizhu had a hard time trying to stop you from doing that, scared that you might choke yourself. “Mister, what happened?” You asked after drink, curiously tilting your head at the man.

“Ahh, yes… a week ago you have fainted from using too much of your... powers.” Baizhu tried to explain. “A week? Powers?” You tilted your head at him confused about what he was talking about.

Baizhu sighed, the let a small smile spread on his lips as he patted your head, soothing himself as you who continued to look at him yet still let him pat your head.

You liked head pats, it has a nice feeling but you were curious about what he meant by power.

How did you sleep for more than a week?

“Well ___, you have extraordinary powers.” Baizhu continued, as he started to clean up your messy hair from your long sleep. “You can control the weather, make it rain, keep the weather sunny or if you want to, make it snow. You can grow plants with your powers, from a seed to a big tree in a few seconds... Nature follows you and does whatever you want. If you want to water and fire will part for you to give you a path to the destination that you wish to go.”

it was something that visions could do so technically it wasn't that special, not really Baizhu thought. But it was the fact that you could control all the elements when vision holders usually could only hold one...

but there is also another thing...

Your eyes sparkled as you look at your hands “That is so cool!” You wondered if you could grow your favorite flower right now but Baizhu was not finished yet, “You... could also do the same to people, you can make people happy, sad… you can also give them pain.”

That is something a vision couldn’t do… manipulate people's feelings and memories, give them physical pain like the last time but also unending sorrow.

“Then I want to make everybody happy all the time!” You immediately said to him, looking at him in the eyes with a bright smile on your face.

You really didn’t understand the implications, you didn’t understand that you held so much power in your small hands and that if you were not careful you could hurt someone… Baizhu shivered at the memory a week ago having yet to recover from it.

Gently taking your hands he looked at you in the eyes “___, you are still young and still have yet to understand how to control your powers. It is because... of those powers did you and others get hurt.” He told you.

You were surprised at what he said and looked at your palms again, enveloped by a bigger hand. Your memory was foggy and you barely remember what happened but the sad and concerned look that Baizhu gave you, made you scared of yourself, you didn’t know what was going on but you knew that you made a mistake.

“What happened?” You asked again.

Baizhu’s face morphed into guilt, guilt that he was to tell you this. “When you cried last time, you used your powers and made a lot of people faint.” Baizhu wasn’t sure if he could say faint, or if you would understand the word. It was difficult to explain… But when he saw your realization he knew you understand him a bit as your eyes watered.

Tears started to form in your eyes again as you sniffled, “I-… I- I didn’t mean to…” You didn’t know what you were really sorry for but you were sorry. You hurt people, even if you didn't mean to you did.

Baizhu wasn't that surprised by your tears and quickly took you in his arms as he hugged you. “It is fine. It is fine, dear. Don’t cry…” He told you as he patted your back.

You tried to hold your tears but it was hard as tears fell from your eyes, the slimes looked at you worriedly as the pyro slime nudge you in worry as if trying to comfort you, the warmth that it made, gave you a little peace.

It was around this time did the door open again for a small little girl with magenta eyes to walk in, “Baizhu, the guest took their leave and Qiqi closed the door. Are the slimes causing trouble for ___?” Qiqi asked when both of your eyes meet.

“___ Is awake,” Qiqi said, you wondered if it was a show of excitement or not as you watched her almost run towards you. “Ohh…? Why is ___ crying?”

Qiqi grabbed your hand that was on your side doing nothing, her hand was cold almost icy compared to Baizhu’s hug and the pyro slime’s warmth but you could feel concerned from your friend’s hands alone as it made you cry even more.

“___, don’t cry. It is not your fault.” Qiqi said not really knowing what happened but said it anyway, Baizhu combed your hair as he adjust his hug a little so that you would feel comfortable, “What Qiqi is right dear. You are not at fault for what had happened… We know that you didn’t mean it.”

Qiqi hopped onto your bed as the slimes gave her space to go near you, she placed both her hands on your tear-stained cheeks and gently rub the tears away from your cheeks “Don’t cry, ___.” She told you again. “You and I are friends. So Qiqi will be with you whenever you are lonely.”

Baizhu smiled as he watched your nodded slowly still sniffling as you tried to stop your tears. The girl seemed to have grabbed a few tissues before arriving at your side as she placed the tissue on your nose telling you to blow.

Baizhu wished he brought his Kamera he would have taken many pictures back right now. It is a shame really that he couldn’t, but there is always next time.

Baizhu’s smile loosen from his lips, as he wondered if you still remember what had happened last time. While you did cry and all, you never really mentioned anything but before he could contemplate if you really remember what happened last time you answered his silent question.

“Mister Zhongli, told me that I cant go back home. He told me that I cant meet mom and dad anymore.” Wobbly voice as you tried to contain your tear again as Qiqi continued to wipe your tears away.

So you remembered…

It took a while but as you continued to tell them that you want to go back home and see your parents and uncles and aunties and grandpa and grandma and friends.

Qiqi and Baizhu continued to listen to you. It was hard to say it was okay, when in reality it was not okay at all to be separated from your parents like this it is hard to process and Baizhu was worried this would affect you as you grow up. To suddenly be apart from the people you once knew and your guardians, it could do so much to negatively impact a child.

But again it wasn’t like he could do bring you back to your home, so instead, he gave you a home in the Bubu pharmacy. “You are always welcomed to the Bubu pharmacy dear. If you wanna talk to us we are always here for you.” Baizhu told you softly as you nodded mutely.

It was hard to make you smile right now, Baizhu brought you food that you ate with the help of Qiqi who stayed right beside you the whole time. “When you are well, let's go explore Liyue together…” Qiqi told you with a small smile “We can talk to flinches and slimes... and... we can get flowers together.” She told you.

It made you a little less sad as you stayed and chatted with your friend.

But as hours passed by you started wondering where Mister Zhongli was, you asked Qiqi where he was but she said that she didn’t know either and then you asked Baizhu who looked outside, dark and night. “He had something to do, but he should arrive around this time.”

You heard the door open, as Baizhu smiled. “Speaking of which, he is here.”

The suddenness surprised you as you almost jumped from your bed. Suddenly you have become scared as you clung to your friend Qiqi’s arm hiding behind her. Suddenly all you want to do is hide somewhere.

When Zhongli finally reached your room, knocking on the door and opening it as he was about to ask Baizhu if you woke up only to see you wide awake and up. He froze, “___?”

You flinched as you tried to hide your small frame with Qiqi’s, as if to hide and disappear from his view. You saw the relief but soon after distraught on Zhongli’s face the hurt in his eyes.

“Are you okay, ___?” He asked, his voice soft as if not to scare you.

You nodded “umm.” as if to tell him that you were okay. You refused to look at his face and instead looked at Qiqi’s braided hair. Qiqi looked behind, towards you wondering who you were hiding from while Baizhu only sighed.

“I am glad that you are okay now,” Zhongli told you, as he walked closer “I was worried.”

“Uhn.” You grunted in response still shy around him, you didn’t see Baizhu motioning Qiqi to come to him, Qiqi looked at you then at Baizhu as she slowly jumped off your bed alarming you, and headed to Baizhu who took her and went out of the room.

Being left with you yourself and Zhongli you looked at the floor, your heart ridden in guilt after Baizhu told you what had happened last time and how hurt Zhongli was after the whole ordeal.

“…”

“Do you dislike me here?” Zhongli finally asked, but you quickly shook your head in denial. Maybe you would have disliked him for the fact that he was the one who told you that you cant go back home.

After all, you were still too young to understand.

But maybe it was because Baizhu told you that Zhongli was hurt because of you that guilt was much stronger than your hate towards him for telling you something that he didn’t do.

“I don’t hate Mister Zhongli…” You told him in a small voice.

It was silent as he approached you taking the chair that Baizhu used to push it closer to your bed, “Can I seat beside you?” He asked, you thought for a bit if you want to say yes or no but in the end just nodded still looking at the floor.

“I am glad that you are okay, ___. I was worried about you.” you heard his voice as he talked to you not commenting that you were avoiding his eyes. You peeked at his face but quickly looked down when your eyes meet.

You just nodded again, you saw the face he was making when the two of your eye meet. The sadness was so obvious as he looked almost worried that maybe you would push him away. You didn’t know what was going through his mind but he looked so sad to you.

“Is… Is Mister Zhongli okay?” You finally had the courage to ask still looking down.

There was no answer, but you didn’t realize how the atmosphere became a little lighter after that.

Baizhu sighed as he listen to your and Zhongli’s conversation, you were rather closed off and a little warry. But the more and more Zhongli tried to talk to you after he realized that you didn’t hate him…. it was slow but you were slowly opening up to him again.

“How unfortunate,” Baizhu whispered to himself as he left you and Zhongli to talk. Baizhu hoped that you would still be a little wary of him, that you would stay away from the consultant of Wangshen funeral parlor even for a little bit longer so that he could be the one who took care of you.

Zhongli had made it clear that he would be the one to take care of you and be a guardian of sorts for you as he was the one who found you or so he said while you were asleep.

Much to Baizhu’s dislike.

Baizhu hoped that he could be your guardian, he loves kids already taking Qiqi under his wing and taking care of her when she has nowhere else to go. The heavy and almost twisted feeling that you gave when you cried in his arms made him feel nauseous he wondered how much worst it was when Zhongli had to calm you down.

It is weird really and normal people would be rather cautious but rather than pushing you away in fear, Baizhu has become rather attached to you at that moment.

Because of how clear your emotions were to him that he understood your confusion, sorrow, wants and fears.

“It seems that everything went well.” A white snake appeared as they rest on the shelves. “It seems so, Changsheng.” He said, raising his hand so that the snake could slither to his neck.

“Hmph! I was hoping to see the child with gold blood but the slimes always block me whenever I tried to sneak into that room. I should have rested that time in the other room when the child first visited the pharmacy.”

Baizhu laughed, “Well they are just worried for their little friend so you should just forgive them.”

“Hmph!”

#genshin impact #genshin imagine #genshin au #yandere #tw yandere #platonic yandere #genshin cult au #cult au #genshin cult #yandere imagine #yandere x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #yandere zhongli #yandere baizhu #genshin platonic yandere #genshin scenarios #genshin slimes

[whyareyouhere66]

Dean Portman x Fem Reader - Reunion

Dean Portman x Female Reader

Set in the second movie

*unedited so sorry if it's trash*- this one is also quite old so it’s also shitty, I hate it a little bit but it’s ok. It’s inspired by a tumblr post I saw a couple months back, but either the author deleted it or I just can’t find it in the seemingly limited Dean fics. 

Summary: Y/n and Dean have been dating for 3 years. They both live in Chicago, but after Dean went to California for the Jr Goodwill Games they could only ever talk over the phone. She decides to surprise him. 

2nd person POV

You watched as number 22, or Luis Mendoza, sped off towards the goal, leaving the rest of the players on the other end of the hockey rink. He came to a quick stop in front of the goal, flakes of ice covering the goalie. He stopped for a second, eyes filled with excitement. "I stopped!" He grinned, looking at the boy in goal who was now covered in ice.

"Put it in Luis!"

With this, the boy seemed to come back to realization, remembering he was still in fact playing a game. He quickly hit the puck into the goal, tying up the score. Everyone in the stands cheered, and you clapped your hands excitedly. "What'd I miss?" You turned to your right to see your older brother, Aaron, standing next to you holding a bowl of nachos. "22 scored, it's 5-5 now!" You said, and your brothers face lit up.

He started cheering, before shoving a handful of nachos in his mouth. You laughed, before the arena's lights dimmed. You looked forward and saw that the shoot out started. "Here we go..." you muttered, watching closely.

The tension in the air was thick, as everyone watched the game in front of them. They only ever made sounds when one of the players made a shot, and then was when they would cheer and clap aggressively. You cheered especially loud when number 44, Fulton Reed, made a shot.

You had heard and seen great things of him, mostly during your phone conversations with Dean. 'The Bash Brothers', they called themselves.

And finally, the last round of the shut out came around. It was Gunner Stahl from Iceland, up against Julie 'The Cat'. You had heard from Dean that she was quite the goalie, and boy you hoped he was right cause this goal, could either cost them the game, or win it for them.

You bit your lip in anticipation as Gunner began to skate towards the goal. 'C'mon..just this one shot...'

As he neared the goal, you saw Julie raising her glove slowly. He hit the puck towards the goal, skidding to a stop only a few feet ahead. Julie lowered her glove and stared at it, before glancing back to Gunner. '....what's happening?'

Finally, Julie stood up in threw the puck in the air, signaling her victory. You jumped up and cheered loudly, a large grin visible on not just yours but everyone's faces. The rest of the Ducks skated towards her, tackling her in a hug. "HELL YEAHHH!" Aaron yelled next to you, and you laughed while hitting his shoulder lightly.

The ducks all huddled together, skating around the rink while carrying the USA flag. You smiled to yourself when you saw Dean and Fulton butting their heads together. 'Dorks..'

"...Well what are ya waiting for?" Aaron asked, raising an eyebrow. You looked at him confused. "Huh?"

"What do you mean wHaT?! Get out there!" He said, pushing you towards the rink. "Wha- is that even allowed?" You said, stumbling a bit. He rolled his eyes before pushing you again.

"Go!"

"Alright alright I'm going!"

You stumbled down the bleachers, avoiding bumping into the fans who were celebrating. You carefully stepped onto the ice, surprised that none of the refs had stopped you. 'Is this actually allowed-?'

You walked across the ice, stopping a few feet ahead of the group of hockey  players. They didn't seem to notice you, too caught up in their own celebrations. "Hey Portman!" You shouted, sticking your hands in your pockets. They all turned to face you, confused as to who was shouting. The way you announced yourself must've been a bit passive-aggressive, as some of them seemed to get a bit defensive of their teammate.

But in the crowd of confused looks you got, you saw Dean's face light up as soon as he turned to look at you. He looked surprised, to say the least, making the others even more confused then before.

You took your hands out of your pockets, and held them outwards besides you, gesturing for a hug. "You made it, baby" you smiled, stepping closer to them.

He laughed, skating quickly towards you. "Y/n!" He shouted, scooping you up and pulling you into a tight embrace. You laughed, leaning into him. You put your head in the crook of his neck, as he slowly came to a stop, skating in a circle so you both were now in front of everyone else.

They all stared, wide eyed, at the scene in front of them. Fulton put the pieces together soon enough, recognizing you as the "famous Y/n". Dean had lots of stories about his girl back home, but he never thought he'd meet you.

Dean pulled away from you, before smashing his lips against yours. You happily kissed him back, and the rest of the team finally started to come to realization. They too, had heard stories about Dean's girlfriend.

"Dammnnn, get it Portman!" Jesse cheered, earning a laugh from the others.

Dean placed you down on the ice, his hands never leaving your waist. You pulled away from the kiss and smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. "I missed ya, you dork." You said. He laughed, and you could feel the vibrations through his chest. "I missed you more, Bash Babe."

You pulled away, chuckling at the name. "Bash babe? That's a new one." You said. He shrugged. "It fits, don't ya think?" He smirked, looking down at you. You laughed and shook your head, resting your head on his chest once again.

"It's perfect.."

#the mighty ducks #the mighty ducks x reader #dean Portman #Dean Portman x reader #fem reader #md2 #d2 #fluff

[baxteravenue]

Out of the Woods

summary: seeing your ex at a party never works out, sometimes it’s for the best though.

a/n: i wrote this when i was heartbroken. sorry for being mia, next post should be sweeter. 

You were mad and terribly jealous. You knew you didn’t have the right to feel that way but you couldn’t help it. He looked good, almost too good and he was making another girl giggle the same way he used to make you. 

You broke up with him though. You had every right to make that decision though, he was treating you like shit and you hardly ever saw him due to his high demand schedule. Just because he was Jack Harlow the famous rapper didn’t mean that he couldn’t be Jack, your boyfriend anymore.

Jack would have never pulled the plug, he would have kept you trailing behind him. He would have made you feel even more stupid as he claimed to be single in every interview he did, knowing you were waiting for him at home. He would have played you like a fool as he came home from overseas with dozens of new girls' numbers in his phone. 

So five months ago from now you had broken up with him over text, while he was in Australia, and then you proceeded to block his number and completely delete him from your life. 

And it worked for a while… until now.

“Holy shit he’s back from tour?” Marlie, one of yours and Jack’s mutual friends, spoke before looking over at you, “Do you mind?”

You shook your head, “I’m not petty.”

It was true, you didn’t care if your friends were still friends with him. It’s not like he fucked them over. So you watched carefully from across the room as basically everyone at the party made their way at some point over to Jack to say hi.

You scrolled aimlessly on your phone, trying your best to seem like you were not bitter and ready to leave. It was hard though when his voice and laugh cut through like a hot knife.

“So you weren’t gonna say hi, I’m guessing?” The familiar voice had now sat right beside you and even though you couldn’t see anyone looking at you, you could feel the entire room's eyes on you and the now very famous person beside you. 

You scoffed, refusing to look over at him. “Believe it or not, not everyone is obligated to say something to you… No matter how many awards you win.”

Jack knew you would be cold, he just didn’t expect you to be so ice cold. “Y/N.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and his words were shaky. You were the only one who could ever get him like that. “Look at me please.”

His voice though, how sweet it got whenever he talked to you. His voice, the same way yours affected him, his did the same to you.

“So you’re just gonna ignore me?”

“So you’re just gonna ignore me?” An unfamiliar voice came from behind you, hands crawling to your waist.

You quickly turned around, stepping back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Jack’s eyes widened as he looked at you, someone he in fact did not know. “I am so fuckin’ sorry I thought you were… Oh shit… My bad.”

You raised a brow, “Yeah I’m not Gracie.”

“No kidding huh.” Jack rubbed at the back of his neck embarrassed, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to touch you like that.”

You laughed at how bad he visibly felt. “I’m Y/N.”

“Jack.” He smiled back at you. 

You quickly stood up, not wanting to deal with Jack. Your heart was thumping hard against your chest as you made your way through the dark loud house, passing by sweaty bodies. You no longer wanted to be there anymore.

Nah, I’m good just give me a second

That’s cool I’ll be right back

Give me a sec

You could hear his voice following you even as you made your way out the front door, starting your walk down the block to where you parked.

“Y/N!”

“What?!” You practically yelled, turning around to face Jack. “What Jack? What could you possibly want?”

“Really? What could I want?” He looked hurt, “What could I want from the girl who broke up with me over text when I’m on a different continent and then blocked me?”

You stared at him, not answering. 

“I came home and all your stuff was gone from our home.” His voice cracked.

“Your home.” The words felt like venom coming out of your mouth, “That was never our home. In order for it to be our home, it’s required for you to actually be there, to sleep there, to eat there, to live there. I never woke up to you Jack. I could count on my hands how many times we actually stayed there together.”

“I—“

“And did I actually break up with you? Because in all those interviews you were claiming you were single while I was at our supposed home. I was going crazy Jack and you weren't there. I was lonely and you didn’t care. I was always putting you first and I finally decided to put myself first.” You were now sobbing. 

“Bab- Y/N, you know why I always said I was single in those interviews… For show, you knew how it was, how I need to seem accessible.” Jack has no idea why he’s trying to make excuses. 

“So it was for show when you cheated on me when you were in Los Angeles? When you cheated on me in Chicago, in New York, in Atlanta… In Louisville.” Your voice was shot, barely coming out. “It was all for show?”

“You’re home.” You smiled, getting up from the couch, “I missed you baby.”

It was three in the morning and you had stood up even though your body was begging you to go to sleep. Jack however had paid you barely any mind, giving you a soft kiss on your forehead and heading straight to the restroom. 

“How was the show? It looked really good.” You spoke on the other side of the closed bathroom door. Silence. “Uhm… okay Im gonna go to sleep Jack.”

While you tucked yourself into bed on the other side of the restroom Jack was pushing his foundation stained shirt to the bottom of the laundry basket and was trying his best to remove the lipstick stains from his chest. 

Jack quickly showered, letting any trace of any other woman who wasn’t you swirl down the drain. 

“I missed you baby.” Jack mumbles as he gets into bed, cuddling next to you. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You cuddle into him too, loving the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. 

“I really do love you baby, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Jack means every word he says and in his head he promises not to be stupid anymore.

Two weeks from that exact night, he finds himself with a blonde wrapped around him while you’re at home alone.

At this point Jack knew that you knew about all of those times but for you to actually say it to his face… he felt like shit. He hurt you.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” You look up at Jack, wiping away your tears, “But sorry isn’t going to change anything.”

#jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow blurb #come home the kids miss you

[millenniumdueled]

Why don't you want your partner to know?

...I made a promise that I want to stay with him forever. It wasn't a lie, I do. I adore every moment with him, with.. All of my friends. I do want to stay with him forever.

But I also have this feeling that once I find my memories, that won't be possible anymore. The woman at the museum said that the Millennium Items must return to Egypt. And I feel inside my soul that I will have to leave him when they do.

I'm not brave enough yet to hurt him like that.

#answers #[ deleted post; not visible IC ]

[the-ace-with-spades]

Some like a monkey pilot lore/behind-the-scenes no one asked for because there's a lot and I love this fic with my whole heart...

It's first title was a supersonic man (Don't Stop Me Now by Queen obviously) but I've used this song as Ice's ringtone for Mav in slow down (in a future chapter 6) and it just seemed to suit Mav better

Second title option was (I am) the man in the making, from Number One by Chaz Jankel - Number one is a hard time in the making / Number two is the one plane I'm not taking and I am (I am) / The man in the making / I'll stake (I'll stake) / My claim (my claim) / I'll make (I'll make) / My name (my name) / My love (my love) / My game, my vocation. In the end, I thought it might sound too literal and cliche.

The story was originally supposed to be about Rooster transitioning but without the running away from Jake bit - so sort of like a small AU of this fic - where Jake would still be very dense about stuff and a lot of the breakdowns and emotions would still be in place, but Rooster stayed in Lemoore with Jake and they got married while he was in transition. Jake still had a hard time adjusting even if he personally thought he was adjusting very well - at some point when Jake was on deployment, Bradley's state got bad enough that he still landed in the hospital and Mav and Ice were called and he moved in with them. It's part of life for many trans people (family and loved ones thinking they're supportive while not really and getting better at it only when drastic stuff happen) and it is something that hit me a bit too hard and emotionally, it'd be difficult to write so the story was changed.

First Jake POV deleted scene from earlier chapters (1 or 2?) was him and Coyote talking about the topgun winner with some squad buddies and Jake hearing 'Bradshaw' and going a bit crazy only to get all depressed when he hears it was a dude (in 2016, about a year before the recall), missing finding out about Bradley by a minimal chance

Another deleted scene that was never finished because I emotionally couldn't write it was the bar scene but in Jake's POV, when he meets Bradley for the first time. He and Coyote actually leave the Hard Deck when Bradley starts playing the piano and have a talk about how Jake feels about all this new info. While I get finding out your loved one is trans can be a lot, I personally never would have cared even a bit so it was just emotionally draining to try to express Jake's thought process

There is also a deleted scene of Ice talking to Slider and Sarah (who are married in this fic) about Bradley's hospitalization and the start of his transition (from Ice's POV) -- it concentrates on how bad Bradley's mental health is at that moment and how visible it is to them, as well as the guilt Mav and Ice have for not intervening early. And a scene when they get the call from the hospital (from Mav's POV). Both are not finished and stuck as mostly dialogue.

So far there are also two more deleted scenes: Mav and Ice being at Bradley's first T-shot appointment while he's being taught how to do the injections and a scene where Bradley is at Ice's doc appointment when he finds out about cancer

Chapters 9-15 are post-canon and a bit Jake's POV heavier. He's going to be such a dumbass in them.

This fic might or might not have a sequel about reintroducing Bradley back into the Seresin family. Some readers hopefully realized that Jake's mom wasn't Bradley's fan when he was still female-presenting and certainly isn't after he transitioned. There's a whole lot of drama in that sequel involved, especially about her -- Jake's the youngest sibling (a miracle baby born a few years after his last sister) and has always been babied a bit by his mom and never experienced how bad she could be the same way his sibling had and he'll have to face it along with her awful behavior toward Bradley.

#hangster #my fics #(sif) lamp tag #apparently i have two tags so Im gonna tag both so I don't lose those posts #op #charlie writes

[capucapo]

one time offer: anybody want to play duel monsters ??????????

#I just want to try something #t. #[deleted post] #[not visible ic]

[iced-sweet-dt]

Hello all! I’m iced-sweet-dt, been in the Dream Team fandom since Spring 2020, and fandom archivist on the side. It’s a rare treat to have been in a fandom so early, and because of it I have quite a few posts I’ve saved to document our history.

But I need help! I’m looking for any and all Dream Team & Dream SMP-related posts from either 2019 or 2020. Replies, reblogs, asks, submissions, and messages with post links are all very much appreciated! It doesn’t matter whether you or I would find the post interesting or agreeable now; all that matters is that it exists. Reblogs of deleted posts or from deactivated accounts are especially valuable!

Thank you in advance! (And sorry for visibility tagging.)

#dream smp #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #sapnap #dream team #dtblr #dteamblr #badboyhalo #muffinteers #dsmp #sleepy bois inc #bench trio #clingy duo #tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #homemade dtea

[vivacissimx]

elasticity and dark red coat for the WIP game please x

hi!

elasticity

okay so this was meant to be a modern greysnow au for theon month that i got sooo excited about that i started typing it straight into the ao3 post box. then i deleted it by accident. worlds smallest violin plays.

trying to reconstruct is hard for me hence why this is a wip but i have some excerpts to piece together. basically the setting is the night before robb's wedding during a nice sordid get together that robb is missing from / for offscreen reasons greysnow have agreed to hook up throughout the wedding prep to ease off stress, although there's like a million rules they've come up with in order to do so

the real crux is that this is the most "public" event they've both been part of since theon escaped ramsay who is basically who he was in canon i.e. tortured/mutilated/abused/onwards theon. theon is visibly affected with various prosthetics such as dentures, a reconstructed nose, robotic finger prosthetics, a chunk of skin missing from his arm for a skin graft, and scarring in places.

jon in this is also post-captivity because he went [equivalent of beyond the wall] with his grad school cohort to collect whatever specimens and they ended up being taken hostage by an environmental group. & jon became the sort of spokesperson for the group as the person who was forced (but also chosen) to interact with the authorities & communicate back and forth. the reporting on the incident made him super recognizable and he's got this ongoing paranoia from the time he spent there.

i kinda wanted to do a thing on greysnow having a second adolescence of sorts, because neither of them really sleep so much so in this fic they stay up this whole final night talking and living in their nervous bodies and having a two-man dance party and being fidgety jumbles together. i think there is a specific joy in meeting someone as an adult who you maybe didn't get on the best with but nonetheless grew up with, like an accounting or cataloguing you can do together except in this fic it's on steroids because there's this other trauma they can explore together. Welcome To The Worst Club Nobody Wants To Be A Part Of ! vibes.

okay here is a lil excerpt:

“You aren’t saying shit,” Jon laughs, pressing his ice cold feet against Theon to both introduce a nonthreatening touch and give himself leverage to pull off his shirt. For a moment Theon stops breathing. He relaxes so quickly that most people wouldn’t notice, but Jon always noticed anyway. Maybe it was unkind to do so but he had his own moments of inescapable grasping, didn't he? From youth he’d been the attentive sort, the type to take pleasure in small moments, but there’s a razor’s edge to it all now.

A slice of paranoia, of protectiveness. Pandora’s box never did close quite right.

Yet Jon had been noticing things about Theon for ages. Force of habit, as it was. And Theon… well, Jon doesn’t know what Theon notices, or even thinks of him. Used to assume he did. Isn’t sure he wants to venture beyond those blue eyes, to know what it is that turns them from cloudy to sharp at a moment’s notice.

dark red coat at the side of my throat

CATELYNCERSEI GHOST WEDDING NIGHT!! this was meant to be for ladies night but life, man. it's actually 2/3 done and i hope to bang it out in the coming month but we'll see.

okay basically it's the night of tommenmarg wedding when cersei burns down the tower of the hand and then returns to her chamber. she does a lot of ruminating on the men she's outlived, the harms they did her, & generally having an internalized misogyny extravaganza hour as our cersei is wont to do. i wanted to connect the wildfire / borderline sexual arousal moment to then having this sort of oddly magical encounter with a lady stoneheart apparition. both of them full to the brim with thoughts of vengeance, as well as finally having the cersei-catelyn faceoff scene that catelyn once spoke of.

here's a lil excerpt:

Idly, Cersei wonders if Lyanna Stark had haunted Catelyn Tully too, when the woman first went to Winterfell. If her husband had wept and raged for his sister as Robert had, in the early years of their marriage.

Wonders if Lady Catelyn ever seethed to herself as her lord snored beside her. Robert had always said that it was only Eddard Stark who understood his grief, so who was to say? The man was made of ice, she’d thought, but perhaps he was as much slave to his baser instincts as Robert. Lord Stark had himself that bastard, did he not? 

Did Ned Stark ever hold his Catelyn down as Robert had done Cersei, searching for their precious Lyanna, pathetic and half limp? Had Ned Stark ever wrapped his hand around Catelyn’s throat, as Robert did once, not so rough as to choke but certainly with no thought to her comfort in his mind? Cersei touches her own hand to her thin neck, rubbing her thumb at the pulse.

Would he have done that? The Stark sigil was a direwolf, no? Yet Lord Eddard had never shown much of the wolf in him. It was him the floppy fish, and his wife the one who snarled and gnashed.

They said Catelyn Stark had fought off a man who sought to kill her crippled son with her own hands. 

#fic asks #text #greysnow #catcers

[fariesoiree]

you walk around like you own shit, always snapping back at innocent people and of course, you just had to cross a line with hobie.

caution! mdni 8.3k wrdz, runway model!hobie au, hobie has freeform locs, rich spoiled brat!reader, black fem!reader, you do nawt get along, semi-public sex, hate sex, fingering reader receiving, pussy slapping, orgasm denial, oral reading receiving, ass eating if you squint (not really), unprotected sex, p in v sex, choking, hair pulling spanking, finger sucking, drooling, cum eating, pet names, blushing describe but isn’t visible

miffy’s note! deleted it to repost! it’s finally completeddd and hopefully okay?? i picked it up so many times idk if the tone is the same. i think this is my new fav, though. to date, this is one of the nastiest smuts i’ve written and posted but i still consider it pretty tame :D if you like this, i’d recommend strawberry meringue! pls do not spam like my blog if you enjoyed it, feel free to tell me in the reblogs

you are so utterly annoying. the way you sit at hair and makeup with a pout etched on your face and protesting at everything everyone around you does.

it is only six thirty in the morning and you’re so loud and annoying. hobie’s head is pounding, throbbing with the aftereffects of spending his night at the pub with his friends. all he wants to be in the comfort of his bed, lights off and air conditioning blasting.

instead, he is forced to sit in your presence and listen to your complaints over such minor details he truly could not give a flying fuck about.

“that shade of blue is not light enough. it’s not going to match and it’ll look unflattering!” you swerve your head away the fluffy eyeshadow brush, dusted with a blue powder.

you’ve been doing this all morning, between taking swigs of your iced coffee from the reusable mug you’ve brought from home. your coffin, french topped acrylics click against the stainless steel beneath the sound of your constant complaining.

and of course, because your daddy bought his precious babygirl a spot in this show for a small cost of several thousands of dollars, every wish and whim you demand is fulfilled.

the makeup artist sighs for the umptenth time. if hobie is tired, imagine how tired he is. having to nearly redesign the entire look to satisfy your needs. marco has to take a patient, restrained breath.

he sets the brush down and pops open the palette to display the limited choices of colors. he feels insulted, knowing exactly what should go where, what shade is perfect for what but instead, he is forced to prioritize your requests all because you paid your way in. god, he hates nepotism babies. “well, these are the options. as you can see, that one is too dark and because of your rich skin tone, the other one will not show up as pigmented at this one. if i use a light hand and diffuse the color, you might end up liking it. can i try that?”

hobie tuts, watching the interaction at his paralleled chair. he’s finished with hair and makeup a while before you. truthfully, no one would be here nearly this early if they weren’t working with you. it’s not an industry secret that you’re difficult, solely depending on your father to garner influence.

don’t get him wrong, hobie thinks you’re beautiful. you have a chance at being a successful runway model simply off your looks alone but your attitude tanks all opportunity before you even get the chance.

“jesus, man. why are you askin’ her? just do it and if she doesn’t like it, too fuckin’ bad.” he seethes, a little less than quietly. his nails are devoid of his signature black color and well manicured. they’re glossy because of the clear top coat and mindlessly flipping through a magazine.

it’s as if everyone anticipates your meltdown with a silent breath. it’s almost certain that you’ve never heard no a day in your life. it carries on even now, everyone dancing around your words and boundaries. no one here has ever told you no, either. they have no plans to, seeing how you slowly turn your head towards hobie.

your hair, a mix of kankelon and your own, swings back and forth in the thick masses of bubble braids. the fluttering of your long wispy eyelashes would have been alluring if it weren’t for the warble that started in your throat. “you don’t know what you’re talking about. some people enjoy constructive criticism instead of taking everything at face value!”

you slam your mug down against the smooth black surface of the vanity, causing a few brushes to roll and clatter to the floor. you barely pay them any attention when marco bends to scoop them up and whisks them away to be sanitized, partially to avoid being roped into the conversation.

“this show is going to be amazing and i am going to be the best part of it because i actually have great opinions. what do you even do here? what’s your job? to make everyone else look better?” you cross your legs and cock your head to the side, glowering at him.

hobie guesses you mean to be intimidating but he takes your tantrum as childish. he isn’t interested in the back and forth, sighing and leaning back in his chair. his long, statuesque figure takes up more space than needs be, elbows dangling haphazardly over the sides as he folds his arms over the armrests. “yeah, okay. sure.”

he offers slow blinks and no further comment until you’re huffing and turning back around to fuss over the next item. the sound of your voice still vibrates and bounces off the inside of his head, soliciting a deep groan and a rub on his temple.

he supposes asking you to shut the hell up is out of the question, lest he want to be subjected to more insults and glares. hobie swears this is his last show, his last time being booked for a gig to entertain the upper class. sure, he’s encountered all kinds of spoiled brats who have people bending at their will but you, by far, are the most spoiled and bratty of them all.

“see. i told you, that just looks stupid!” your high pitched shriek breaks what little resolve he has left in him, twisting his already worked nerves into a tight ball and setting them on fire.

“ ‘m going out for a break,” hobie mumbles beneath the stylists and makeup artists trying to work you down from another blow up. they don’t notice how he stands and slips away from the crowd, still decked out in designer.

his shoes, a bit too flat and shapeless for his liking, do nothing to aid in a smooth passage to the back exit. he can feel each step he takes, even the lace pants that bunch and gather under him. the length of his attire is impractical but the rich will pay for anything.

he’s only greeted with peace of mind when he pushes the door open and takes a step out into the fresh early morning. the sun is is beginning to rise and coax the sky into a mix of romantic colors and the air is cold and crisp, providing his lungs with sharp relaxation.

new york is still busy at this time, still full of hustle and bustle that thankfully drowns you out. it does nothing to quell his headache but he decides that if he has to experience a hangover, he’d rather hand his misfortune over to the city.

his vacation is short lived, however, because he feels a small finger jabbing his rib cage with an impatient pattern.

hobie’s acknowledgment is slow. he takes his time to rip himself away from the outside world, turning his body to face the perpetrator, who just happens to be you. “what?” it’s curt and short, lacing his usual warmth and welcome.

“we’re starting our pre-show run. they want you there.” your hands, covered in silk gloves, are crossed over your chest. you somehow manage to look down on him, despite hobie being taller. the flounce of each white layer on your dress swishes along your thighs when you pivot and stalk away without a reply.

hobie doesn’t miss the same pale blue eyeshadow over your eye, locked under a layer of glitter and gloss. someone must have talked you into it. this all could have been avoided if you just agreed from the beginning.

“fuck me,” he mumbles, hands going to clasp and rest on the top of his head.

the door behind him swings shut and hobie is trapped again, with you and your whining, making the day difficult for everyone else. he shuffles forward, face pulled into a tense frown. he takes his spot in the jumbled crowd of models, all waiting to take their turn.

he blends in with the crowd just fine, silently slipping in between two warm bodies, just as unhappy to be here this early in the morning at he is. all courtesy of you.

you, who stands in front because you demanded to be the opening of the show and got your way when your daddy threw in a couple more thousands. you are almost cheery, bouncing on your toes to the upbeat music sounding out the speakers around the room. you’re the only one enjoying yourself at the cost of everyone’s expense.

someone needs to take you down a notch. that’s what hobie thinks and what he continues to think when you disappear in front of of the curtain. hobie’s eyes drift to the tv, reflecting your slinky walk down the runway.

you’re not all that bad. a little stiff in some places and a little too loose in others. hobie thinks you could easily benefit from some tips and a few days work. he doesn’t think you’ll take it, knowing you’re too headstrong to believe you’re anything less than perfect. you’re definitely not good enough to be opening the show. that’s neither here nor there and he doesn’t care enough about your success to comment on it.

instead, he keeps his thoughts to himself and powers through, taking his own powerful and evenly distributed steps down the sleek platform.

the rest of the morning goes like this, taking turns during the choreographed walk and being whisked away to try on the next thing. it’s well into the day when the sun has risen and the birds are active that everyone is allotted a break, free to grab lunch and return home for the evening.

hobie makes his way towards the door, his bag swung over his shoulder. he doesn’t announce his leave the way he sees others around him do. he doesn’t care to, doesn’t consider himself cool with anyone. he just comes, does his job, and goes home. he’s fairly surprised, although not pleasantly, to see you waiting at the door as well, sporting a pink tracksuit and slip on uggs.

against every sensible bone in his body, hobie finds himself stopping beside you. his expression is already full of regret before he can speak.

you cast a sideways glance at him, both curious and judgmental before punching in more texts on your phone, demanding that your driver arrives faster so you don’t have to stand out in the street. not that you’ve even left the building. the idea of comparing to the normal class in any way disgusts you.

“you did good, today.” hobie says through a strained breath, staring out the glass panelling of the door. why did he stop? he doesn’t know. maybe to confirm that you truly are one of the worst people he’s ever met.

“i know.”

hobie waits. he gives you a second to build on that and maybe, just maybe, display an ounce of politeness but nothing comes. he can’t help but laugh at his hopefulness, shaking his head to erase any possibility that you might be a good person.

“what’s funny about that?” you immediately jump to the offense, turning your body until you’re facing him. you got your mouth all screwed up into a scowl.

the image you give him only makes hobie’s chuckles increase until he’s smiling at how stupid this whole thing is. “you are so rude, you know that? a selfish little thing, you are.”

you don’t take well to being called selfish or rude. as far as you know, you’re the only one carrying their weight around here. “did i offend you in some way? is this because you realized you have to try harder around me?”

“did it ever occur to you that the reason we’re here so early in the morning is because you tack on another two hours with your complainin’?” hobie tightens his grip on the shoulder strap of his bag. he has to remind himself to keep his voice tame, not wanting to be caught in a scandal framed as a giant man yelling at the sweetest girl. he’s sure you’d activate some victimizing tears and land him farther in trouble with the public.

“well, that’s because i’m – ”

“you’re the only one with good opinions. whatever, i don’t care. i think i speak for everyone when i say this, though. learn to shut the fuck up and let everyone do their jobs the way they’re supposed to be done.”

you both stand and stare at each other silence. you because it’s unbelievable that he’d have the gall to come up to you and say that. him because he really needs to cement just how suffocating you are when you speak.

“excuse me?” is what you settle on with a challenging glare in your eye, taking a step towards him and your head tilted to the side.

hobie brushes you off, though. he’s said what he’s needed to say and doesn’t see the point in entertaining this any longer. “have a good one.” he walks right past you and out the door, satisfied with himself for being the one to tell you about yourself.

the following day is much better, oddly enough. hobie expected you to lash back at him after your conversation. it’s shocking when you’re pliant and receptive to everyone, smiling when you’re addressed.

you even go as far to smile at him. you greeted him when he walked in, leading hobie into a false sense of security. he’s so comfortable with your good behavior, he almost is able to forgive and forget your attitude.

almost.

“hobie?”

he’s surprised to get a call from his manager, bringing the cool tempered glass up to his ear. the silver backing of his phone is caseless and reflects the bright white lights hanging from the ceiling. hobie blends into the background, wearing his off duty outfit, sporting a black top he cropped himself with a pair of kitchen scissors and some black sweatpants. he offsets the cold city morning with a thick puffer jacket and fingerless gloves. his feet hidden behind equally thick socks and stocky black boots. “yeah, wass’up?”

his accent leaks in every word, following the sense of dread that something has gone wrong. his radar goes haywire when you suddenly appear near by, idling with the smuggest smile he’d seen all week.

what did you do?

“you pissed her off, man. clean off. you’re not going to like this.”

“just spit it out, peter.” hobie finds himself having to round the corner to stand behind a pillar, his hand coming down to drag across his face. he doesn’t have to ask who the she is because it’s so obvious. only you would be so evil to do something so bad, his manager would have to call him.

“you know how the brand was so excited to work with you because you fit their style really well?”

“yes,” hobie draws it out real slow. his heart is already racing in anticipation. he hated these things as much as the next punk guy but they made him so much money, and hobie wasn’t doing too great financially right now. all his stealing and evading “justice” was starting to creep up on him and the last thing he wanted was to end up in the slammer.

sure he’s all rough and tough on paper but he knows he wouldn’t last a second behind bars.

“well now . . ., someone has offered them a large sum of money to lower your appearances to one so not only do you now walk once but you’re getting paid significantly less.”

if hobie was in a cartoon, he’d have steam pouring out his ears. his stomach twists itself into sour knots, tighter and tighter he feels like he’s going to be sick. peter is saying something, words fading into the background of hobie’s thoughts, all screaming into the void about how inconsiderate you are. how careless, how selfish, how bratty.

“pete, i have to go.” his thumb smashes against the big red button on the keypad. everything in his body is blaring with the red alert of his ending patience. he’s been lenient, he thinks. only speaking to you when you’ve really done it for him. otherwise, he’s left you alone. sure, he told marco to stop letting you dog him and told you off for your behavior but none of that justifies something as cruel as this.

“what’s wrong? get some bad news?” you grin when hobie comes stalking up to you. something like a delightful chill runs down your back when you see just how unnerved he is. you’ve never gotten anyone to glare at you as hard as hobie is doing.

“we need to have a talk,” hobie says with his hand circling around your wrist, smoothed and evenly tanned from expensive skincare treatments and luxurious vacations out the country. he is prepared to ignore your whines about how he’s dragging you across the room but to his surprise, there is none.

other than the sounds of quiet huffs of annoyance, you’re compliant enough to follow him. your feet drag, moonboots scraping against the concrete flooring. the sound just irritates hobie more.

he pulls you behind the partitioned dressing stall, yanking the white linen closed across the metal curtain rod. the small space is a tight fit, boxy and barely enough room to fit two people. fortunately, hobie is lanky enough to squeeze anywhere, unaffected with the way you puff your chest to seem more intimidating than you are.

his arms are crossed ever so tightly over his chest and yours are planted over your hips. neither of you say a word to the other, staring each other down in a silent battle of dominance.

“did you get me cut down from the show?” hobie finally spits out. his blood is boiling and he doesn’t have the time to play this game with you.

“and if i did?” you snap back with a provoking swivel of your head. you jut your chin out, eyes examining him up and down. you’re wordlessly declaring how unserious you take him and his temper. “are you going to yell at me some more because that would be a huge mistake. you don’t even know how badly i could ruin your career.”

his hand slots over his face, the web between his thumb and pointer finger rubs against the bridge of his nose. each word that rolls out your mouth has his brain rattling. none of those are anything near remorse and he’s sick of you getting away with whatever you want. “are things not goin’ well for you at home? what is this about, hm? is this all to get attention or what?”

“excuse me?” you’re miffed, eyes nearly bulging out of your head.

“that’s how it goes with you lot, ‘innit? do somethin’ crazy for attention cause you’re not gettin’ it at home.” he looks down at you, not physically but emotionally, mentally. he pities you and your need to be the center of attention. that’s what this is, isn’t it? you must live a lonely lifestyle.

you take a step towards him. in the small box you’re confined, it’s more of a half step. your finger jabs against his chest, venom dripping into each word. “you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. don’t make assumptions and mind your own fucking business.”

if hobie was angry before, he’s fuming now. this is ridiculous. to be going back and forth with a little girl that doesn’t know how to mind her tongue and is telling him to stay out of her life. “oh, that’s real rich comin’ from you. like you didn’t go and meddle with how much i’m going to get paid for this.” he swats at your hand with enough force to have put pushed away from his chest and back to your side.

“oh, whatever. i’m not going to stand here and keep talking about this.” you roll your eyes, turning away to leave hobie standing here alone. you’re only able to reach for the heavy curtain, fingertips just ghosting the fabric before you feel hands at your waist, pulling you in until your back is pressed against the cold mirror. it rattles against the impact, wobbling and clanking in the metal that holds it together.

you find hobie merely inches away from your face. he invades all of your senses at once, breath smelling of spearmint and calloused hands fisting the loose sweater you sport. it’s buttery soft and worth every pretty penny.

you’re so pretentious.

“you don’t get to walk away from me. you wanted to run your mouth. keep runnin’ it.” hobie is close enough to smell the strawberry pound cake perfume on your clothes. the glitter of your cherry flavored lipgloss reflects in the light, pink and silver. he’s unhappy with the way you sneer at him.

“then we’re going to sit here in silence because i don’t want to talk to you about this, or anything, ever.” you turn your cheek to him and close your eyes to solidify your point.

hobie hooks his fingers under your chin and forced your attention, jerking your head back with enough shock to have your eyes popping open. a whine, mixed with an almost animalistic arousal and surprise slips through your closed lips, to your dismay. you did not mean to do that.

“what was that?” he asks, hand still pushing your lips together until your lips are pursed and pouty.

you wiggle in his hold, only inching farther up against the mirror until you’re standing on your toes in dire search of space. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

playing dumb is your only solace when he’s staring at you like this, scrutinizing your every move. his tongue swipes across his bottom lip, slow and heavy, as his thoughts race together. they all come to the same conclusion, a screeching halt at one verdict.

“needy thing, you are. should have known you’d want me to do somethin’ like this. gettin’ me all mad so i can push you against the wall like this.” he adjusts his grip. instead of holding you against the glass, he holds you in place, planted firmly in your spot.

you don’t notice the way your legs slide themselves apart but hobie does and he’s quick to take advantage of it. his hand darts down under the hem of the thick striped sweater, meeting the tight spandex of your safety shorts underneath.

there’s a moment of stillness where he gives you a moment to stop him, searching your eyes for any sign of reluctance or a squeak of displeasure but none comes. you simply watch him your chocolate colored eyes, darting between his attention and his lips, messily lined with a black liner.

“hm,” he scoffs with a handful of your shorts and tugs them down with a snap of his wrist. hobie is met with resistance from the friction of your thin, nearly sheer, black tights. “put up a fight for what?” his hand digs behind the waistband of your tights and panties to bury between your hot and sticky folds. he finds your clit, growing puffy from need and pinches it between his fingers.

the back of your hand comes pressed against your lips to swallow your whimper come the sound of shoes pattering across the dark gray flooring just outside the curtain. you’re reminded in that short span of a few seconds that you’re not the only ones in the establishment.

you only end up pressing both hands against your lips when he rolls the hardening bud between his thumb and pointer finger. it has your hips bucking in a fight to satiate your growing need for more.

“fuck you being so quiet for? where that mouth, hm? nothin’ to say now that i’m playin’ with your pussy like this?” hobie tilts his head, fingers continuing to toy with you until you’re soppy enough to have the pads on the tips of his digits pruning.

hobie swears he can hear the squelching when his fingers dip towards your entrance and smear more of your arousal on your already dripping cunt. each swipe of his fingers against your nerves draws another mewl out your body, almost against your will.

“s – shut up!” you slam your fist against his chest. your body reacts before your brain does, rolling your hips into his hand in an attempt to entice it to the more needier parts.

it works, but not in the way you’d think. hobie’s eye twitches, just barely. he pulls your shorts down to your ankles when another swift tug and digs his nails into the polyester fabric of your tights. it tears apart with a few pops. he yanks the seat of your thong to the side, securing it in place on the round globe that is one of your buttcheeks. “who are you talkin’ to?”

three melodies slaps to your cunt rings through the air in a continuous stream. they’re harsh and wet and leave you withering, standing up by the grace of your willpower. your legs shake with each impact, accompanied with a shriek and your hand flies to the wall to steady you.

“just won’t learn to shut your mouth, will you?” hobie grunts under the voices questioning that unusual sound, unbeknownst to them was coming from you.

you both listen to the “what was that” and the “i don’t know”, you with the roundest doe eyes hobie’s ever seen. you’re nervous, whirring the idea of getting caught around your head. it makes your heart pound but your skin flushes with a newfound warmth.

“i’m sorry,” you say in a hushed whisper. you’re hesitant, not too pleased to be admitting defeat but you have no other choice. not when hobie is experimentally one long finger past your folds.

it’s slender and deep, reaching crevices you didn’t know was possible. never have you never able to do it yourself, nor has any of your previous casual experiences. it has your head reeling back against the mirror. the part down the center your scalp leaves you rightfully balanced.

hobie finds that you suck him right in. you’re so annoying like that, catching an attitude when he doesn’t touch the places you like, only to be reduced to apologies and sweet whispers. “yeah, i’m sure you are.” he says with his finger pumping at an agonizingly slow pace. his goal is not to make you feel good, but to make room enough for another.

it’s enough to have to you mewling. your hips roll forward and your clit bumps against the rough callouses that is hobie’s palm. your hand lifts and falls on his shoulder. you wring his shirt in between your fingers under the fabric is strained in his grip.

he makes you feel small, the way hobie eyes bore into you. he swallows each and every sound you make with his loud presence, fogging your thoughts with the smell of his cologne. it irks you, how he’s knocked you off a few pegs until you’re below him.

“i hate you,” you seethe through gritted teeth. “i hate you so much. you’re just a lowlife.” you’re grappling for power, even though you’re quite literally under him. hobie’s taken up so much of your space that you have to tilt your head up to him. he’s so close you can see the freckles dotted over his cheeks.

his lips curl in on themselves. his expression squints and squeezes until it’s full of scorn. “keep fuckin’ talkin’,” he shoves another finger next to the other, dripping in the sheen of your arousal. he snaps his wrists in an aggressive up and down manner, ripping a gasp out of you.

you’re getting loud with the stimulation of his fingers inside you. your body swivels in an infinite loop of needing more of him but being unable to take it. you’re grateful when hobie cradles your head into your chest to mute your moans.

his large hand engulfs the back of your head. despite his words, this hold and gentle and safe. there’s a very thin line hobie teeters between, acting as a decent human being and being so extremely pissed off with you. messing with his pay like this.

“mmmf . . .,” you hum against his toned chest. your mouth falls open with puffs of breath. you whine and whimper into him. you fall still at the impact of his fingers, jerking so quickly in you the mirror rattles in its clips. “oh my gosh. please, fuck –!”

your orgasm comes as a surprise to no one. you’d be blind to not anticipate it by to the way you mewl and moan at his attention. it builds up and up and up and —

hobie rips his hand away. he ruthlessly deprives you of the ultimate sense of pleasure. his pride swells when you are turned into nothing but a bundle of whines of displeasure and drool.

his lips curl into something of a sadistic grin, gleaming white incisors poking through the corners. he’s even more smug when you tilt your little head at him, eyes full of pitiful tears just threatening to spill over your eyelashes.

“hobie, please?” it’s unbelievable that you’re pleading with him, hands sliding down until they grasp the waistband of his sweats. “not being nice.” your lip trembles, the two-toned browned skin comes to tuck beneath your teeth.

“don’t deserve it,” hobie clutches your chin in between his fingers, thumb on one side, pointer on the other. “beggin’ me like this after givin’ me so much attitude.”

you look so dollike and sweet like this. finally, finally, docile and bending to his will. it didn’t take him long at all, just needed to give you some attention to calm you down.

he almost feels bad for you.

it’s not enough to stop him from dropping to his knees and lifting a soft, glowing thigh over his shoulder. he massages the skin with the pads of his fingers, kissing the inner of your leg while taking in the scent of your sex, tangy like a pineapple on a summer day. 

“forgot to take these offa’ you.” his lips ghost over the material of your underwear. hobie leaves it secured where it is as he continues his trek and ignores the pants of anticipation when he eventually reaches your puffy bundle of nerves. “just hold em’ if they slip, yeah?”

you hum in hushed agreement. your hands move on their own, entangling in the coils of his coarse locs. they dig in his scalp and pull at his hair. in response, hobie is tugged closer until his tongue is slotted against your leaking cunt.

he obliges without complaint, slurping at your juices with steadying your hip and the other keeping your leg hooked on his shoulder. it’s sloppy, the mix of saliva and arousal dribbling down his chin and leaving your inner thighs glistening.

your attempt to maintain your discreetness is weak. there’s always a squeak, squeal, or hum leaving your lips when hobie’s tongue digs deep in your crevices and rolls your hips against his lips.

he, for one, doesn’t care who just so happens to walk by at the wrong time or is careless enough to pull the stiff curtain back. he does know that you care, though, and is leaving it up to you. you want to remain “respectable” and “perfect”. that is your responsibility.

with each voice that draws nearer, you try to quell your noises, swallowing each sob that accompanies each shake or twitch of your body. your almost restrained like this, having to choke back a moan.

hobie is all too good at this, lapping at your cream like a starved man offered from the cornucopia of heaven. twice now, has his long tongue slipped past your folds and flattened over the puckered rim of your ass.

his lips wrap and suckle around your clit, leaving just enough space for the pad of his thumb to circle around to your entrance. it dips inside and pulls away with enough frequency to force a reaction, a confined gasp and whimper.

“hobie! fuck you’re so –” you yank his hair in all different directions, brain foggy and unable to truly comprehend anything. you’re just over the cusp of overwhelmed, jerking against him and unsure if you want more or are ready to tap out.

he only chuckles beneath you, pulling away from your nub with a pop. his fingers become buried in you again without warning. it happens with ease until they’re knuckle deep, despite your wordless protests when you’re unintentionally attempting to escape. “swear you make it so difficult, dolly. how hard is it to take it? hm?”

it’s not really a punishment, considering how much you like it. love it, even. enjoying it so deeply you’re sure your walls will mold into his shape. your chest rises and falls, representing the waves of pleasure crashing against your body. the tightening ball in your tummy returns, wrapping itself tighter and tighter. there’s a moment you fear you’ll be denied again when your body begins to physically curl in to itself, falling silent with an open mouth.

hobie only coaxes you by returning to being gentle kisses to your skin, breathing in your natural scent with the subtle hint of the strawberry scented perfume. it’s a shame you’re not as sweet as your smell, or even the sounds you make.

even now, when you’re shaking and drunk of pleasure, this is possibly the sweetest you’ve ever been. fucked out from his fingers alone and eyes rolling back, already. your little cunt squeezes out every drop of cum it possibly can, leaving your legs shaking and pushing his hand away from your sensitive parts. 

your voice is all breathy when you speak. “holy shit,” you finally find your strength to stand, licking your dry lips to dampen them. you turn your attention down to hobie, arrogantly smiling at you as he just shy of shoves your leg off his shoulder.

“don’t look at me like that.” you twist your expression until you’re scowling, puffing your cheeks.

hobie can’t take you seriously. even after he’s pulled your panties to the side, got you to shut up, and fingered you to oblivion, you’re still so very stubborn. “if you stopped talkin’ so much, so many more people would like you,” he runs his fingers his fingers up and down your legs.

“how about you shut the fuck up?”

“i’ll do you one better.”

it’s too bad you don’t notice the widespread sadistic grin across his face. hobie jostles you around by your hips until your turned and facing the mirror. your boobs feel the cold and exposing air when he pulls your sweater and bra up.

your eyes are wide as hobie maneuvers you like a doll, guiding parts of your body into certain positions. “what are you doing?” you ask him when he pushes down on your back until it’s arched. your legs are spread apart and your brown erect nipples are being rolled between his fingers. 

“what are you doing?” you say again, body squirming against both the mirror and hobie’s crotch. your cheek is forced against it because you’re too busy holding yourself up using the wooden bench attached to it. 

you receive no response except for the sound of fabric shuffling about. your limited vision gives view of hobie dropping his sweats and briefs far enough to get his dick out. your mouth automatically waters at the sight, thick and veiny. it’s almost angry, glistening with hobie’s arousal from just touching you. it’s fully erect and firm when it slaps against your pussy.

“you ask too many questions,” he says, just barely dipping his swollen tip past your folds. hobie gets a taste of your body this way. the warmth of your walls paired with the sopping wetness of your arousal. even down to the way you immediately react, he soaks it up.

he still finds you to be a bit mouthy. it’s almost as if you’re unaware your cheek in pressed against the mirror and your tits are dangling into the palm of his hand. the other one, free of your body, runs along your smooth skin.

you can feel the tips of his fingers ghost over you. from your position, there’s not much of a view, especially with the way you’re pressed and craned into this compact space. despite your agitation and resistance, you comply when he guides your body into the arch. the curve of your spine dips, causing the globe of your ass to lift and be pressed right against his lap

you huff in anticipation when you feel the tip of hobie’s dick press against your entrance.  you’re not going to lie to yourself and say that the stretch from just a few inches causes you to tense. it’s been a minute since the last time you were fucked to the fault of your relentless attitude, something you refuse to let go of.

you squeeze your face, contorting to display your displeasure. for a split second, you consider the idea that it won’t fit. you reach back for his stomach to push him off you, convinced you’re unable to make this happen. “mm-mm,” a hum leaves your lips, pressed tightly together. your eyes flutter close, wispy and dollike lashes brushing against your cheek.

“y’gotta relax, mama. you’re gonna be fine.” hobie clasps your hand in his, rather than allowing you to escape him. don’t get him wrong, he resents you but he isn’t an asshole. he doesn’t force his way in you, not completely anyway. hobie waits just until you’re soft enough to be molded like clay. only then does he thrusts his hips forward just enough to get you over the edge.

you shriek for a second and unintentionally dig your nails into hobie’s hand. you leave indents in your wake, balling your fist and turning your head into your elbow in an attempt to muffle yourself. it’s unexpected but the pain very quickly burns itself into pleasure.

you feel so full like this. you like to think you’d be perfectly content if hobie opted to not move and instead hold you like this but it’s not something you’d tell him.

“there you go.” you hear hobie say. he sounds conceited about it too, getting off on the image you give him. gasping and twitching and all he did was stick it in. “good fuckin’ girl.”

a mewl builds up in your throat but you swallow it. it’s worse enough he’s had to coach you to take him. you can’t already let him hear you like he’s bitching you. “. . . shut up.” it takes you a moment to work the words out, lids still closed and fist still clenched.

hobie scoffs. he rolls his own eyes. he doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand you. seven inches deep and you’re still giving him orders. like the near humiliation wasn’t enough to knock you down a few notches. shut up this and shut up that. is that all you can say?

“y’know, i’d be so much nicer if you didn’t act so terribly for no reason. what did i do to deserve this, hm?” his fingers dig into your skin, grasping and rubbing along whatever he can reach. your hips, your spine, the tops of your thighs.

your lack of response is taken as a sign of complacency. you didn’t know what to say because he’s right. hobie did nothing to deserve this but treat you like a normal human being.

heaven forbid.

he snaps his hips forward, eyes boring into the back of your head. hobie own face screws up in a display of pleasure. it’s nothing compared to the near scream that falls from your lips from his sudden action.

it’s unexpected. just as unexpected as his hands wrapping around your body, one stationed securely at your hip and the other sliding up your chest and gripping your throat. it’s firm, fingers swallowing the column with just enough force to maintain your position.

“look. look in the mirror and watch how i fuck you.” hobie cocks his head, thumb brushing across your jawline. the skin is soft and no doubt also attributed to your lifestyle. “i know you want it, cunt flutterin’ on me.”

the stubborn part of you can’t resist shaking your head in denial, despite the new gush of slick coating your thighs.

“no?” his tongue catches the fat of his lip and tucks it under his teeth. he supposes it’s fine, your instance of denying everything he says. he’s tired of talking, anyway. instead, he anchors you flush against him and draws his hips back. 

the relief is only temporary because hobie slams forward just as quickly as before. each thrust sounds off with a reverberating slap of skin. you barely hear it, too busy swallowing what moans build in your throat.

you’re forced to watch, tits jiggling in the mirror. you have no range to squirm. instead, your toes curl inside your shoes. your arms shake to hold yourself up, despite not needing to. hobie had you right where he wanted with no room to escape.

your head drops forward. your insides are on fire, filled to the brim with dick. it’s repetitive and knocks the wind out of your lungs with each stroke.

“please,” you sob, eyes filling with salty tears. they spill over your waterline and plop onto the bench in inaudible plinks! 

your pleas falls on deaf ears. instead, hobie lands two smacks on your ass. it heats under his touch and jiggles on impact. at first, the smacks serve as a warning but he can’t help but indulge for just a moment. the skin tints with an undertone of red with the more merciless spanks on your cheeks.

“please what?” hobie’s hand leaves the base of your throat and entangled in the length of your hair. he wraps it around his hand, only to tug it back until your head is lifted and he gets a clear view of your pretty brown eyes glossed over and blown out. “thought you didn’t want this. want me to stop?”

your mouth gapes open only to close without a word. you’re hesitant to respond, having no intention of asking him to pull out. you merely whine in desperation and wiggle your hips.

your reward for your decision is him sinking his cock into your tight pussy. it’s almost as if hobie didn’t pause to begin with. instead, his pace is vigorous. it’s constant pressure, merciless and bouncing you around from sheer force.

your hand flies to wall, almost banging against it in an effort to find purchase somewhere. anywhere you could possibly release the growing tension all over your body, particularly your core. “oh my gosh! oh my days!”

hobie yanks your head back even farther, nearly resting against his shoulder. again, does his fingers wrap around the base of your throat and steady you there. he’s lucky enough to catch your eyes roll back. in tandem, it’s difficult to miss the clench of your walls around him. 

“well shit, baby,” hobie says. his breath fans over your check. the smell of your pussy still lingers on his breath. it sends a small wave of embarrassment crashing over you but only for a minute. it’s drowned out by red hot lust burning your insides.

“you like that shit, don’t you?” it’s a warm whisper in your ear surrounded by grunts and wet kisses against your shoulder. “so fuckin’ wet. bet you can feel me nice and deep. tell me you like it, dolly. i want to hear you say it.”

his fingers brush against your clit and elicits a gasp. by now your legs shake, ready to collapse under your weight. “i – it’s so good. it’s so good, ‘obie. i like it so much. please! wanna cum.”

“too loud,” hobie mumbles, tongue dragging across the crevices off your collar. he resolves the issue by squeezing your cheeks together until they are forced in a pucker. he pushes his fingers past your lips and flatten against your tongue.

you let out a surprised choke, saliva pooling in your mouth. you’re unable to voice anything other than haggard breaths and hummed moans. you enclose your hand around his wrist. the other rests on his bare hip. not once do you resist or push him away. you solely dig your nails into his skin, chest heaving with each draw of breath.

“gonna cum, hm? gettin’ so tight, lovely. can feel that shit, like you’re gonna snap me in half.” hobie slide his fingers farther down the slope of your tongue until you’re nearly gagging.

you manage to hum a “mm-hm”, drool gurgling and spilling down your chin. you can imagine the image you’re giving, filthy and desperate, but it’s the least of your concerns with each thrust and caress of your clit.

he doesn’t have to give you permission, doesn’t have to tell you when you can. hobie doesn’t want to. he’d much rather push you to the edge, rubbing your clit in quick circles. they compliment the jerk of his dick against that spot that has you spurting your watery cum. had his fingers not been down your throat, there’s no doubt the air would be thick with soundy whimpers.

behind you, hobie does the unexpected. he’s quick to push you forward, pulling out with a quiver. he whines, whines when shooting thick ropes of cum over your asscheeks. you get a faint glimpse of him pumping out every drop with a tight hand wrapped around the shaft.

it’s mesmerizing, the scrunched up face he makes when he cums. it’s been you who’s had the lower hand and been watched with curious eyes. for a brief moment, it’s your turn.

your turn to watch hobie stare at the mess he’s made over your skin. you think he’s going to leave you at that but instead he lowers himself down and eagerly laps it up.

your eyes widen at the sight. he could have figured out any other way clean you up and chose the most explicit, massaging your hips with each drag.

“hobie . . .” you’re at a loss for words, torn between telling him it’s unnecessary and too amazed to stop him.

“are you going to say your sorry?” he’s kneeling now, turning you around until you’re facing him. hobie looks up at you, almost innocent-like. had he not been making his way to suckle at your cunt, maybe he would have been.

you lurch away, far too sensitive to handle another round, right now.

“relax, mama. jus’ tryna clean you up. promise.” he presses a relaxing kiss against your inner thigh until you’re soft in his hands again. “are you sorry or what?”

you consider the position you find yourself in now and in the previous minutes. your cheeks flush when the weight of your actions come crashing down and your hands, resting on his shoulders, are reluctantly drawing back. “are you going to use this against me?” a chill runs down your spine when his tongue smooths over your folds.

hobie’s eyebrows knit together. he’s perplexed you’d think that of him. “oh, absolutely not. i’m not you. jus’ got tired of it. so are you sorry or not?”

you’re prepared to answer, mouth gaping open before you’re interrupted by a knock on the other side of the curtain, probably on what little solid surface there is.

“if you guys are done uh, fighting, everyone else is ready to go.”

hobie is far more composed about this than he is. “ ‘kay,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. his question, unanswered, still lingers. the only thing that’s changed is that he’s now standing and putting his clothes back on, waiting for your response. “i’m willing to put this all behind us if you just apologize. you have no idea what you’ve just done and i can’t expect you to understand and doubt that you’ll fix what you’ve done, but can you at least say you’re sorry?”

your shift your weight, gathering the different articles of your clothing and pulling them on your body. it’s difficult in this small space with him but you manage. “i dunno. you were kinda mean so —“

“ ☆ , i’m serious.” he catches you with a heavy gaze. for once, there’s no hint of anger. he’s being sincere with his hurt and you can’t deny the guilt you’re filled with. “you messed everything up so bad. you’re strong, you’re powerful, you can do what you want, whatever. i don’t care. i just need you to understand that i deserve an apology.”

you adjust the sweater on your body to avoid the tension in the air. there’s truly no way out of this. just you two in this room, him expecting an apology after bending and breaking your body. “i’m . . . sorry. you’re right, i guess. i’ll figure out how to undo it.” your voice only gets quieter and quieter with each word, putting your feet back into your boots.

it’s embarrassing and odd, apologizing. you can’t think of the last time you’ve done so and honestly don’t believe you would have if he hadn’t taken such methods to get it out of you.

oddly enough, it’s silent. you’re too cagey to meet hobie’s eyes and even while fully dressed, you’re stalling leaving the space.

it takes him a moment to speak as well, sighing to release what emotions he still carries about the situation. “thank you. if you fix it, i’ll stay out of your life. we’ll finish our job and never see each other again. i won’t talk about what happened to anyone and i’m sure you can manage to keep whatever you want between whoever is here. deal?”

your stomach twists into knots and fills with distaste. for what? you don’t know. you can’t put your finger on it but you find yourself nodding anyway.

what else can do you? disagree and risk the industry finding out what risky behavior you participated in? risk blemishing your reputation and have the public label you a whore?

“okay. deal.”

your response is satisfying enough for hobie to leave after patting your shoulder. presumably, that’ll be the last time you interact so personally but that’s not an assumption you think you like.

#ִ ࣪✮🕷✮⋆˙ #hobie x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #x black fem reader #astv hobie #x black reader #hobie x reader #x reader #hobie x y/n

[truckreincarnation]

Hi! Feel free to ignore/delete this if you don't want random spectators asking story questions...but I was really fascinated by your post-death mechanic, and noticed not everyone who died got a full event post/reveal of what their Bound form is like. Particularly off the top of my head, is what happened to Francis and Perry known by the cast? Since all that was mentioned was their transformations not being visible (but I won't ask for something still not publicly known ofc). Thanks!

Hello there! Thanks for taking an interest in TRUCK's story. We had a lot of fun with the post-death mechanics. We wanted dying to feel impactful, but for dead players to still be able to be present and involved in roleplay if so desired.

Perry did have a regeneration announcement post, you might have missed it. It can be viewed here. Unlike some of the other Bound, her Domain did not physically transform her immediately upon dying. This is not unheard of - sometimes, Bound stay looking perfectly normal for some time. She has since begun to change physically.

Francis's player has currently not yet elected to have her regenerate. As it can take months IC for a Bound to return, there's no requirement for it to happen immediately.

[sleepymarmot]

I haven’t giffed for a while, so making the previous post was a bit of an adventure.

I started this gifset in February 2021. Back then I ripped every frame and the gifs were too big for tumblr, so I had to delete every other frame by hand. It looked so choppy that I put the post on ice, and it got buried under other drafts. Evidently I found the post again months later but didn’t fix it and left it to rot again.

I found the post again this week and almost published in that state, but thought it’d be too embarrassing to post a gifset with every second frame in 2023. I then tried to remake it in proper quality. I discovered that I had one of the gifs ripped with every second frame, and had to re-rip it again (and remember how to crop them). For some reason, the new screenshots were brighter, so I had to use a different coloring for them. I also had to split that gif into two, but that’s easy.

The gifs were still way past the Tumblr limit, and I was on the brink of losing hope and shelving the post again when I realized that I can just reduce the number of colors. This is b/w! There are 64 and even 32 colors per gif in that post and it all looks perfectly fine. So my big problem from two years ago was finally solved. (Too bad this solution would not work with normal color gifs.)

The original version was also awfully slow. For the new one I started experimenting with frame delays since I’m unfamiliar with giffing every frame. At first I tried to abandon frame animation altogether and set the FPS on the timeline the same as original video, but that didn’t work (in two different ways). Then I realized that gif exporting ruins frame delays anyway, rounding them up/down to either 0.03 or 0.07. 0.03 looked perfect in my desktop image viewer but too fast on Tumblr in the browser. 0.05 looked too slow. Then it finally occurred to me to do the math, and 1 second / 23.976 fps indeed equals 0.04 (rounded). So I adjusted the gifs to have 0.04 as frame delay and it still looks wrong somehow, even though objectively it should be the best option.

By the way, I had to carefully replace gifs one by one in the original post buried like fifty pages deep within my drafts, and not just because I didn’t want to make a new one: that draft is in the legacy photo post format, and I don’t have access to it for new posts anymore.

After finishing and uploading all that, I realized that I never cropped out the black border, and it’s quite visible at the edges of the gifs. But I already wasted way too much time to go through every gif again.

In the end, the only thing I had to redo from scratch was the final gif (now split in two). For all the others, I used the same psd, adjusted the export settings, then redid the frame delay of the exported gifs. The real time-consuming part was not the editing process itself, but figuring out what I needed to do.

All this was for an extremely simple gifset, by the way. The kind that requires no actual creativity or hard work, only a bit of technical know-how. If you know what you’re doing, and not blindly poking at the settings you’re not used to, it should take no time to make. I just want to share how much I’m overthinking everything. (And also to journal for my own sake, because this has been An Experience.)

#photoshop woes #blah blah blah