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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months

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Google’s enshittification memos

[Note, 9 October 2023: Google disputes the veracity of this claim, but has declined to provide the exhibits and testimony to support its claims. Read more about this here.]

When I think about how the old, good internet turned into the enshitternet, I imagine a series of small compromises, each seemingly reasonable at the time, each contributing to a cultural norm of making good things worse, and worse, and worse.

Think about Unity President Marc Whitten's nonpology for his company's disastrous rug-pull, in which they declared that everyone who had paid good money to use their tool to make a game would have to keep paying, every time someone downloaded that game:

The most fundamental thing that we’re trying to do is we’re building a sustainable business for Unity. And for us, that means that we do need to have a model that includes some sort of balancing change, including shared success.

https://www.wired.com/story/unity-walks-back-policies-lost-trust/

"Shared success" is code for, "If you use our tool to make money, we should make money too." This is bullshit. It's like saying, "We just want to find a way to share the success of the painters who use our brushes, so every time you sell a painting, we want to tax that sale." Or "Every time you sell a house, the company that made the hammer gets to wet its beak."

And note that they're not talking about shared risk here – no one at Unity is saying, "If you try to make a game with our tools and you lose a million bucks, we're on the hook for ten percent of your losses." This isn't partnership, it's extortion.

How did a company like Unity – which became a market leader by making a tool that understood the needs of game developers and filled them – turn into a protection racket? One bad decision at a time. One rationalization and then another. Slowly, and then all at once.

When I think about this enshittification curve, I often think of Google, a company that had its users' backs for years, which created a genuinely innovative search engine that worked so well it seemed like *magic, a company whose employees often had their pick of jobs, but chose the "don't be evil" gig because that mattered to them.

People make fun of that "don't be evil" motto, but if your key employees took the gig because they didn't want to be evil, and then you ask them to be evil, they might just quit. Hell, they might make a stink on the way out the door, too:

https://theintercept.com/2018/09/13/google-china-search-engine-employee-resigns/

Google is a company whose founders started out by publishing a scientific paper describing their search methodology, in which they said, "Oh, and by the way, ads will inevitably turn your search engine into a pile of shit, so we're gonna stay the fuck away from them":

http://infolab.stanford.edu/pub/papers/google.pdf

Those same founders retained a controlling interest in the company after it went IPO, explaining to investors that they were going to run the business without having their elbows jostled by shortsighted Wall Street assholes, so they could keep it from turning into a pile of shit:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

And yet, it's turned into a pile of shit. Google search is so bad you might as well ask Jeeves. The company's big plan to fix it? Replace links to webpages with florid paragraphs of chatbot nonsense filled with a supremely confident lies:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

How did the company get this bad? In part, this is the "curse of bigness." The company can't grow by attracting new users. When you have 90%+ of the market, there are no new customers to sign up. Hypothetically, they could grow by going into new lines of business, but Google is incapable of making a successful product in-house and also kills most of the products it buys from other, more innovative companies:

https://killedbygoogle.com/

Theoretically, the company could pursue new lines of business in-house, and indeed, the current leaders of companies like Amazon, Microsoft and Apple are all execs who figured out how to get the whole company to do something new, and were elevated to the CEO's office, making each one a billionaire and sealing their place in history.

It is for this very reason that any exec at a large firm who tries to make a business-wide improvement gets immediately and repeatedly knifed by all their colleagues, who correctly reason that if someone else becomes CEO, then they won't become CEO. Machiavelli was an optimist:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

With no growth from new customers, and no growth from new businesses, "growth" has to come from squeezing workers (say, laying off 12,000 engineers after a stock buyback that would have paid their salaries for the next 27 years), or business customers (say, by colluding with Facebook to rig the ad market with the Jedi Blue conspiracy), or end-users.

Now, in theory, we might never know exactly what led to the enshittification of Google. In theory, all of compromises, debates and plots could be lost to history. But tech is not an oral culture, it's a written one, and techies write everything down and nothing is ever truly deleted.

Time and again, Big Tech tells on itself. Think of FTX's main conspirators all hanging out in a group chat called "Wirefraud." Amazon naming its program targeting weak, small publishers the "Gazelle Project" ("approach these small publishers the way a cheetah would pursue a sickly gazelle”). Amazon documenting the fact that users were unknowingly signing up for Prime and getting pissed; then figuring out how to reduce accidental signups, then deciding not to do it because it liked the money too much. Think of Zuck emailing his CFO in the middle of the night to defend his outsized offer to buy Instagram on the basis that users like Insta better and Facebook couldn't compete with them on quality.

It's like every Big Tech schemer has a folder on their desktop called "Mens Rea" filled with files like "Copy_of_Premeditated_Murder.docx":

https://doctorow.medium.com/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself-f7f0eb6d215a?sk=351f8a54ab8e02d7340620e5eec5024d

Right now, Google's on trial for its sins against antitrust law. It's a hard case to make. To secure a win, the prosecutors at the DoJ Antitrust Division are going to have to prove what was going on in Google execs' minds when the took the actions that led to the company's dominance. They're going to have to show that the company deliberately undertook to harm its users and customers.

Of course, it helps that Google put it all in writing.

Last week, there was a huge kerfuffile over the DoJ's practice of posting its exhibits from the trial to a website each night. This is a totally normal thing to do – a practice that dates back to the Microsoft antitrust trial. But Google pitched a tantrum over this and said that the docs the DoJ were posting would be turned into "clickbait." Which is another way of saying, "the public would find these documents very interesting, and they would be damning to us and our case":

https://www.bigtechontrial.com/p/secrecy-is-systemic

After initially deferring to Google, Judge Amit Mehta finally gave the Justice Department the greenlight to post the document. It's up. It's wild:

https://www.justice.gov/d9/2023-09/416692.pdf

The document is described as "notes for a course on communication" that Google VP for Finance Michael Roszak prepared. Roszak says he can't remember whether he ever gave the presentation, but insists that the remit for the course required him to tell students "things I didn't believe," and that's why the document is "full of hyperbole and exaggeration."

OK.

But here's what the document says: "search advertising is one of the world's greatest business models ever created…illicit businesses (cigarettes or drugs) could rival these economics…[W]e can mostly ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers, ad formats and sales."

It goes on to say that this might be changing, and proposes a way to balance the interests of the search and ads teams, which are at odds, with search worrying that ads are pushing them to produce "unnatural search experiences to chase revenue."

"Unnatural search experiences to chase revenue" is a thinly veiled euphemism for the prophetic warnings in that 1998 Pagerank paper: "The goals of the advertising business model do not always correspond to providing quality search to users." Or, more plainly, "ads will turn our search engine into a pile of shit."

And, as Roszak writes, Google is "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand." That is, the company has become so dominant and cemented its position so thoroughly as the default search engine across every platforms and system that even if it makes its search terrible to goose revenues, users won't leave. As Lily Tomlin put it on SNL: "We don't have to care, we're the phone company."

In the enshittification cycle, companies first lure in users with surpluses – like providing the best search results rather than the most profitable ones – with an eye to locking them in. In Google's case, that lock-in has multiple facets, but the big one is spending billions of dollars – enough to buy a whole Twitter, every single year – to be the default search everywhere.

Google doesn't buy its way to dominance because it has the very best search results and it wants to shield you from inferior competitors. The economically rational case for buying default position is that preventing competition is more profitable than succeeding by outperforming competitors. The best reason to buy the default everywhere is that it lets you lower quality without losing business. You can "ignore the demand side, and only focus on advertisers."

For a lot of people, the analysis stops here. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product." Google locks in users and sells them to advertisers, who are their co-conspirators in a scheme to screw the rest of us.

But that's not right. For one thing, paying for a product doesn't mean you won't be the product. Apple charges a thousand bucks for an iPhone and then nonconsensually spies on every iOS user in order to target ads to them (and lies about it):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

John Deere charges six figures for its tractors, then runs a grift that blocks farmers from fixing their own machines, and then uses their control over repair to silence farmers who complain about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

Fair treatment from a corporation isn't a loyalty program that you earn by through sufficient spending. Companies that can sell you out, will sell you out, and then cry victim, insisting that they were only doing their fiduciary duty for their sacred shareholders. Companies are disciplined by fear of competition, regulation or – in the case of tech platforms – customers seizing the means of computation and installing ad-blockers, alternative clients, multiprotocol readers, etc:

https://doctorow.medium.com/an-audacious-plan-to-halt-the-internets-enshittification-and-throw-it-into-reverse-3cc01e7e4604?sk=85b3f5f7d051804521c3411711f0b554

Which is where the next stage of enshittification comes in: when the platform withdraws the surplus it had allocated to lure in – and then lock in – business customers (like advertisers) and reallocate it to the platform's shareholders.

For Google, there are several rackets that let it screw over advertisers as well as searchers (the advertisers are paying for the product, and they're also the product). Some of those rackets are well-known, like Jedi Blue, the market-rigging conspiracy that Google and Facebook colluded on:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

But thanks to the antitrust trial, we're learning about more of these. Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – was in the courtroom last week when evidence was presented on Google execs' panic over a decline in "ad generating searches" and the sleazy gimmick they came up with to address it: manipulating the "semantic matching" on user queries:

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

When you send a query to Google, it expands that query with terms that are similar – for example, if you search on "Weds" it might also search for "Wednesday." In the slides shown in the Google trial, we learned about another kind of semantic matching that Google performed, this one intended to turn your search results into "a twisted shopping mall you can’t escape."

Here's how that worked: when you ran a query like "children's clothing," Google secretly appended the brand name of a kids' clothing manufacturer to the query. This, in turn, triggered a ton of ads – because rival brands will have bought ads against their competitors' name (like Pepsi buying ads that are shown over queries for Coke).

Here we see surpluses being taken away from both end-users and business customers – that is, searchers and advertisers. For searchers, it doesn't matter how much you refine your query, you're still going to get crummy search results because there's an unkillable, hidden search term stuck to your query, like a piece of shit that Google keeps sticking to the sole of your shoe.

But for advertisers, this is also a scam. They're paying to be matched to users who search on a brand name, and you didn't search on that brand name. It's especially bad for the company whose name has been appended to your search, because Google has a protection racket where the company that matches your search has to pay extra in order to show up overtop of rivals who are worse matches. Both the matching company and those rivals have given Google a credit-card that Google gets to bill every time a user searches on the company's name, and Google is just running fraudulent charges through those cards.

And, of course, Google put this in writing. I mean, of course they did. As we learned from the documentary The Incredibles, supervillains can't stop themselves from monologuing, and in big, sprawling monopolists, these monologues have to transmitted electronically – and often indelibly – to far-flung co-cabalists.

As Gray points out, this is an incredibly blunt enshittification technique: "it hadn’t even occurred to me that Google just flat out deletes queries and replaces them with ones that monetize better." We don't know how long Google did this for or how frequently this bait-and-switch was deployed.

But if this is a blunt way of Google smashing its fist down on the scales that balance search quality against ad revenues, there's plenty of subtler ways the company could sneak a thumb on there. A Google exec at the trial rhapsodized about his company's "contract with the user" to deliver an "honest results policy," but given how bad Google search is these days, we're left to either believe he's lying or that Google sucks at search.

The paper trail offers a tantalizing look at how a company went from doing something that was so good it felt like a magic trick to being "able to ignore one of the fundamental laws of economics…supply and demand," able to "ignore the demand side…(users and queries) and only focus on the supply side of advertisers."

What's more, this is a system where everyone loses (except for Google): this isn't a grift run by Google and advertisers on users – it's a grift Google runs on everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

#pluralistic #enshittification #semantic matching #google #antitrust #trustbusting #transparency #fatfingers #serp #the algorithm #telling on yourself

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evilminji · 2 months

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You know what idea has always ENCHANTED ME?

Ever since I saw it on a sci-fi show?

The Deadly Magical House That Loves You™. See, it's a house that has become something MORE. Gained sentience. And? Instead of acting out some cheap horror movie jump scares? It digs deep to its foundations, thinks long n hard, and decides on what it WANTS.

And it WANTS?

To be a HOME™.

To TAKE CARE OF somebody. Have LIFE in its halls. Meals at its tables. Joy and laughter bouncing across its walls. So? It lays a trap. Lures people in.

Come live in me~

I am a good home.

I am Free! I am "Safe". I will give you whatever your heart desires.

I care not for morality or laws. Boundaries or taboos. Do you desire? Come, come, be HAPPY~! Live in me! Relax here! Forget about the world beyond these walls. Anything I can not give you, I can bring TOO you! This is a Happy Home.

But, of course, such sentience and pushiness terrifies. People run and flee in horror. The house getting more aggressive. Trying to hold tighter. After all! If they would just STAY for a while, they would SEE! It's so LOVELY here! The would LOVE to live inside them!

But... instead?

They are hurt.

Doors smashed open. Windows broken to escape. Furniture thrown. Their avatar, Jeeves, bashed with heavy things. Why... WHY?! They are only trying to HELP! To LOVE them! Be a good HOME! They grow more and more run down. Starved. Wrathful.

It is, of course, their Obsession. To be a home. They are so very hungry.

When? Who should come along?

But the depressed AF Ghost King! He's been... not TECHNICALLY kicked out. But "things are tense" kicked out. He's tired. His college courses are remote. He can't really AFFORD rent. And everything is just...

He's TIRED.

He wants to cry.

Why... why can't he have ONE good thing? ONE sign everything's gonna be alright?

"Free House!"

Well... I mean... that IS a literal sign. Huh. He flies down. The house notices him. Tries to look as enticing as it can. And? Gasp! I... It's WORKING? This one seems INTERESTED? Quick! Flowerbeds! Look at my flowerbeds! Ooooh, lovely floooowers! A.. and there's probably really nice wood flooring! C'mon. C'moooon!

Danny? Sees a free Lair. Not too far from both Gotham AND Metropolis. Good location. Needs a little fixing up. But I mean... you can't beat free, right?

Is he really gonna do this?

......fuck it. Yeah, let's do this. First house time. He's just glad he carries a sharpie on him most of the time. Scribbles "Sold!" Over the sign then calls Jazz. He's... kinda not sure WHAT he's supposed to pack?

Finds out, post move in, whoop. Sentient Lair. Clingy, clingy, highly desperate sentient Lair. Oof. Guess fixing up the place can be therapy for both of us. Jazz helps.

The house heals. He falls into a routine. Schoolwork, hang out in the garden or the observatory, meals FaceTiming friends or watching videos, naps whenever he wants them. It's... it's so peaceful. Quiet and soothing to his agitated and worn down soul. Like a balm.

House gets him whatever he needs. They're kinda awesome like that. Always seems to have room to fit this or that. He doesn't question it. His brain figuring it works on Zone logic.

He probably SHOULD have.

Because? Things have been going missing. At a slow, steady, pace. Food, technology, entertainment. A building that shouldn't BE there, has been spotted in a wealthy county just outside of Superman and Batman's two cities.

No one can get near it.

It's been getting BIGGER.

Growing, like a tumor, room by room. Floor by floor. The gardens creeping like kudzu, to swallow everything in their path. Yet delivery drivers drop things off. Things they don't remember. On trips they don't recall. People are scared.

Amateur detectives have managed to discover some sort of starlit fae that lives there, along with a human boy.

Justice League Dark has been called in. Are currently standing just outside the slowly creeping property line. A garden statue just hissed at them. The trees are trying to throw acorns. A hushed argument has already broken out. How do they contain the house?

@the-witchhunter @nerdpoe @hypewinter @hdgnj @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @spidori @lolottes

#minji's writing #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt

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ellemj · 4 months

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Flustered: Part 1

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Two-Part Fic: SMUT

Request by @aryarcharon: enemies to lovers, fuckboy!Bucky, praise kink.

Summary: Bucky seems to thoroughly appreciate all women...except for you. When he finds out one of your weaknesses, he can't help but use it against you, which only makes you hate him more.

Warnings: profanity, masturbation, fuckboy!Bucky, size kink, praise kink, teasing, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: I've had major writers block + lack of motivation lately. I started this WEEKS ago and didn't have a single good idea for it again until today, so here you all go. I meant for it to be a one-shot but it sort of turned into a two-part fic on its own. Special thanks to @aryarcharon for this wonderful combination request from the smut menu!

It’s not very easy to get under your skin. You’re so level-headed and even-tempered, capable of dealing with the most heinous criminals and lowlifes without ever breaking a sweat. However, there is one person who not only knows how to get under your skin, but takes pride in doing exactly that. That one person is none other than Bucky Barnes.

As a heavy rain pours down, soaking your clothes and sending a chill throughout your body, you stand with your arms crossed over your chest and a simmering rage bubbling up in the pit of your stomach. It’s his fault you’re stuck out here like this, freezing your ass off and probably nearing hypothermia as you wait for an extraction team. The mission went fine. You got the intel you needed, you got in and out without a hitch, and you even made it all the way back to the getaway car. The getaway car that Bucky left idling for too long, which drained the battery and now leaves the two of you standing in the rain.

Your eyes flit over to your left, where Bucky’s carefully analyzing the machinery beneath the hood of the car, like he’s going to be able to magically fix a drained battery. Just the sight of him feeds the fire of anger within you.

“Give it up, we don’t have any way to jump it off.” You grumble, running your hands through your wet hair. Bucky lifts his gaze to glare at you. His eyes briefly travel down to your wet clothes, but he focuses back on the machinery within a second. It was already cold out before it started raining, why the hell would you have dressed in such a thin shirt? And then to only pull on an equally thin jacket over the top of it, Bucky’s decided that you’re not the brightest.

“If you had listened to me and gone in when security was in the back half of the building instead of waiting until shift change, we wouldn’t have had to leave the car idling for that long.” Bucky points out, letting the hood down and closing it with a metallic thud.

“If you had turned the ignition off, time wouldn’t have been a factor.” You retort. You know there isn’t any use in arguing, it’s not going to change your current shitty situation. However, you never seem to be able to stop yourself when it comes to Bucky.

“I was trying to keep the car warm so you wouldn’t be freezing your ass off on the drive back to the compound.” Bucky huffs, moving around the side of the car to join you in standing on the passenger side. The laugh that leaves your lips is genuine, and if you weren’t laughing at Bucky’s words, it might’ve been infectious enough to make him laugh right along with you.

“Don’t lie and pretend like you were keeping it warm for me, you were doing that for yourself. You’re never that nice to me.” It’s true, he’s never that nice to you. Any other woman? Sure, he’s a gentleman to anyone else. But to you, he’s an ass, constantly. It’s part of his fuckboy charm. He puts on the perfect show for women he wants to sleep with, and then gets them into bed and never calls them again, forever seemingly afraid of commitment. It’s how you figured out that you’re the one girl he’s never thought about sleeping with. He’s never been nice to you.

Before Bucky has a chance to continue your pointless argument, his phone rings in the pocket of his leather jacket. He’s quick to pull it out, note that it’s Torres calling, and then press the device up to his ear as he narrows his eyes at you. You roll your eyes the moment you make eye contact with him.

“I’ve got a car coming your way, ETA is about two minutes. But, it looks like the people you stole the info from may have caught on to the ruse, so you need to move.” Torres informs him quickly. He can hear him tapping away on a keyboard as he speaks.

“Which direction is the car coming from?” Bucky asks, already scanning the street for signs of danger.

“Head north of where you are right now, when you get to the construction site at the end of the road, take a left and find a place to tuck in until the car gets there.”

It’s less than a minute later that you and Bucky are jogging through the rain in silence. You follow a couple of steps behind him, routinely glancing over your shoulder to check for the people that are supposedly on your tail. Though you haven’t seen or heard anyone yet, it doesn’t mean you aren’t being watched. After a short twenty seconds of you jogging behind Bucky, his protective nature gets the best of him and he slows down, switching places with you. He’s not letting you hang around the back and be the first one to get shot at when those guys catch up.

“I can take care of myself, you know.” You mumble as Bucky lets you take the lead.

“You have to, since you sure as hell don’t like to let anyone else do it.” He spits back lowly. For someone who can’t stand being around you, he sure knows a good bit about you.

---

Bucky stands in the shower, running his hands through his hair as he lets the hot water trickle over the curves of his muscles. He let you get under his skin today. He let you distract him from the mission at hand and he forgot to turn off the damn ignition, which resulted in the two of you getting stranded in the rain. Truthfully, you barely even did anything. It was the same shit that always distracts him when he’s in the field with you. The way you can be so serious and focused on your task, yet still throw casual insults and banter with him on the side. The way you’ve never acted like you were scared of him or like you even care who he once was. The way you roll your eyes. Every time he sees you roll your eyes at him, which is often, he can’t help but think about making you roll them for a very different reason. God, if he could just get you out of his life, he’d be fine. He’d be more the fine, honestly. He’d be fucking great.

But, you’re a part of his life whether he likes it or not. You both live in the tower, you get sent on the same missions more often than not, and you’re as close with Sam as he is. So, over the last couple of months, Bucky came up with one foolproof way of gaining a little control back in this situation. He goes out of his way to make you want to insult him, to make you want to give him shit, so he can convince himself that you’d never give him a chance. Of course, it helps that he’s a bit of a modern-day fuckboy and you can’t stand that. Your take on his sex life is a bit off, but he doesn’t care to correct you on it, hoping it’ll make you hate him even more. You think that he sleeps around and because you think he fears commitment, you assume he leads women on and gets them into bed with the promise of something more. He does sleep around, but with no promise of commitment or anything resembling that. He lets women know up front that he isn’t looking for anything, that he’s happy to have one fun night and give them pleasure beyond belief, but that it’ll never go anywhere after that. Besides, who would pass up the chance to sleep with a super soldier? He’s practically fulfilling women’s fantasies left and right. He’s doing his civic duty by sleeping around. Isn’t he?

Bucky had been planning to grab something out of the fridge for dinner after his shower, and then lock himself in his room for the rest of the night. Until he stepped out of his room, freshly showered, and the heavenly smell of whatever you chose to cook for everyone that night graced his senses. He couldn’t help himself from venturing in not only to see what you were making, but also to try to get under your skin as much as you got under his earlier today.

“Don’t tell me you’re cooking pasta again.” Bucky’s voice rings out just as you’re leaving your sauce to simmer and thicken up on the stovetop. Your back is to him, but you know he’s approaching the kitchen with a sure plan to piss you off. As you wash a wooden spoon in the sink, your entire body tenses up when you feel him behind you.

“You know I like to be alone in here when I’m cooking.” You remind him coldly, shutting off the water and drying the spoon on a hand towel. Bucky chuckles lowly before backing away from you and moving over to the stovetop, glancing down at the pasta sauce that you’ve spent the last fifteen minutes whipping up.

“And you know that’s why I’m in here.” Bucky points out. God, he’s infuriating. He’s made it his main purpose in life to piss you off, you’re sure of it. When you finally turn to face him, you catch him eyeing the sauce with piqued interest.

“Get away from the stove.” You say boldly, pointing your wooden spoon at him like it’s a weapon. Bucky’s eyes dart over to you with mild amusement as he assesses the situation. You need to turn the burner off, but Bucky’s seen you cook this exact recipe enough times to know that, so instead of moving like you told him to, he reaches over and turns the burner off for you. It’s his next move that really pisses you off. A smug smile tugs on the corners of his lips as his hand ghosts over the stovetop to the edge of the saucepan, and then glides across the rim of it, gathering a small sample of sauce. “Don’t you dare.” You threaten him. “It was your fault that I ended up soaked on that mission today, you’re not eating anything I’m cooking tonight.”

“Soaked, hmm?” Bucky repeats the word, giving it a much filthier connotation as he raises a brow at you. You shake your head, stepping forward as he lifts his hand closer to his mouth, his gaze focused on the sauce on the tip of his flesh index finger.

“You know what I mean.” You huff, reaching for Bucky’s arm to stop his movement.

“It was my fault that you ended up soaked.” Bucky says the sentence slowly as he thinks about you being soaked in an entirely different context. You poke his chest with your wooden spoon before grabbing his flesh wrist and pulling his hand toward you, effectively stopping him from tasting the sauce.

“Why do you have to make everything sound so filthy?” You question, looking around for your hand towel so you can wipe the sauce off of his finger. It’s too far for you to reach without dropping his hand, and you’re sure as hell not letting him go now.

“I like seeing you flustered like this.” He teases. Secretly, he’s enthralled that you’re touching him right now, that you’re standing so fucking close to him. He came in here hoping to piss you off just enough to make you yell at him, to make you chase him out of the kitchen, to remind him that you don’t give a shit about him so he could go to bed tonight without thinking about you. Yet, here he is, enjoying every second in your presence.

Flustered. It only takes two seconds for you to decide that you’ve had enough of being flustered at Bucky’s words and actions. You’re always the one that’s flustered and he’s always the one that’s smug and cocky over getting a rise out of you. The action your body chooses to carry out doesn’t seem to go through the proper channels in your brain first, so you carry it out without pausing long enough to realize that it would be a mistake.

You pull Bucky’s hand closer to your face, look up into his eyes, and wrap your lips around his finger, sucking the sauce off as your tongue glides against his skin.

Fuck. You don’t hear the very audible sound of Bucky swallowing. You don’t hear the way every single thought jumbles up into a ball of incoherent words in his mind before disappearing altogether. You most definitely don’t notice the way his cock is quickly hardening, even though he’s wearing gray sweats and his growing bulge is somewhat obvious.

You did it, Bucky’s flustered. You’ve never actually seen him like this, with blush-tinged cheeks, blown pupils, and narrowed eyes. He’s looking down at you like he wants to rip his hand away from you and storm off, but he isn’t moving a muscle. Satisfied with your victory, you drop his hand and use the spoon to tap on his chest.

“I like seeing you flustered like this, James.”

---

With a hand wrapped around his cock and your name threatening to crawl past his lips, Bucky chases his release less than an hour after his interaction with you in the kitchen. The image of you sucking on his finger while you looked up at him through your lashes ruined him. It fucking ruined him. Bucky works his cock with no intention of prolonging his pleasure, he wants it over with. He wants to knock out this one, shameful orgasm and then figure out a way to get you back for doing this to him, for making him want you this damn bad. He wants to have you on your knees, swallowing his thick cock with tears on your face and lust in your eyes. He wants to have you naked in his bedsheets, crying out for mercy as he fucks you so thoroughly that you can’t tell where his body ends and yours begins. He wants to have you so hooked on his cock that even a day without it leaves you restless and on edge. He wants to hear you fucking beg for him.

Only a moment later, Bucky is cumming all over his lower stomach and abs, grunting as quietly as he possibly can as he imagines his entire load filling you. More than anything, Bucky hates that he doesn’t actually hate you.

---

It’s been two days since Bucky started avoiding you, two days since you sucked his finger into your mouth and gave him something to fantasize about. For the first time since that moment in the kitchen, you’ve found yourself in the same space as Bucky.

As Bucky finishes up his workout with various pieces of gym equipment, you’re in the sparring ring with your latest trainer. You go through trainers about as fast as Bucky goes through women. Bucky’s sure this new trainer won’t last through the week. He watches as the guy pulls his punches, leaving you with only the lightest of swings to dodge and block. He’s going too easy on you, playing it safe so he won’t hurt you, because he doesn’t think you can handle yourself if he comes at you full strength. Bucky saw the same thing last week when the guy was here for the first time. Honestly, he expected you to request a new trainer after that first session, but for some reason, here the guy is again, treating you like a little princess in the ring.

You’re light on your feet as you duck beneath another one of your trainer’s wide swings and then rise back up, landing a gentle punch of your own to his gut and sending him stumbling one step back. He’s quick to hold his hands up in defeat, shaking his head at your perseverance. You’ve been going at it for over an hour now, and although you’ve both been going easy on each other, it’s still cardio.

“I’m calling it for today. I’ll be back again on Monday and you can rough me up then.” The tall, broad-shouldered man promises with a smile. You let out a deep breath and nod your head as you start to unwrap the protective fabric from around your knuckles. Taking a few steps over to the far side of the ring, you steal a sideways glance at Bucky, who’s completely engaged in his own workout with a weight set.

“Rough you up? I don’t think we’ve gotten anywhere close to rough.” You joke, though it’s true. The man has been treating you like it’s your first week sparring, like you’re something to be handled with care and caution. You drop the sweaty fabric strips onto the mats before tugging your hair out of its ponytail and lowering yourself to sit on your knees on the mats.

“If you wanted it rough, you could’ve just said so.” Your new trainer is bold. Though he fights you like you’ll shatter with his first real punch, he takes risks with his flirting. That’s the only reason you haven’t requested a new trainer yet.

“Good to know.” You say coyly, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes and an innocent smile playing on your lips.

It was that innocent smile paired with the way you looked up that simultaneously twisted Bucky’s stomach into an aching knot, yet still managed to send all of the blood in his body straight to his cock. If it was him that you’d been looking up at, his stomach would’ve been fine. But no, you were looking at your fucking trainer, the man who clearly thinks you’re fragile and incapable of making it through a real sparring match. After a few more words are exchanged between the two of you, the guy leaves the gym, promising he’ll see you again after the weekend, unless you call for him sooner. Bucky briefly imagines himself hurling one of the heavy weights across the room to knock the guy out of the door a little faster, but that would cause more trouble than it’s worth.

He was going to ignore you. Honestly, he was. He wasn’t going to let himself interact with you, for his own sanity. But his deeper desires are repeating like a mantra in the back of his mind. He wants to hear you fucking beg for him. He has to have that satisfaction. He’s thought about it enough over the last two days that he’s imagined it to the point of committing the fantasy to memory. He has to have it.

“I was wondering why you haven’t put in a request for a new trainer yet, since that one seems to think you’re too weak for a real sparring match. I get it now though.” Bucky says lowly, setting his weights down and lifting the hem of his t-shirt, using it to wipe sweat off of his brow. You narrow your eyes at him as you remain seated on your knees, stretching your arms up above your head. You know him well enough to know that he’s not done talking. “You want to sleep with him.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” You laugh. You reach for your water bottle that sits a few inches closer to the corner of the ring, grabbing it and pulling it to your chest.

“Good to know.” Bucky repeats your words. He has a habit of remembering exactly what you’ve said and using it against you in various ways. It’s one of the things you hate most about him.

“What does it matter if I do want to sleep with him? You sleep with any girl that comes within ten feet of you, you can’t really judge me, can you?” You retort. Bucky watches with an amused smile on his face as you set your water bottle back down and grasp the hem of your own shirt. He thinks you’re going to lift it just as he lifted his own earlier, to wipe sweat off of your brow. In retrospect, he should’ve left the gym when you lifted your shirt over your head, removing it and dropping it on the mats beside you.

“You think he’d be good in bed? He won’t even throw a real punch at you in the ring. He’d probably fuck you so softly you wouldn’t even feel it.” Bucky scoffs, letting his eyes roam down your body as you’re taking another sip of water. You sit there in black leggings and a matching black sports bra, on your knees, making him question every decision he’s ever made with your appearance alone.

“Maybe he thinks throwing real punches at a girl would dampen the mood.” You lie. You know Bucky’s right. The guy would be a bore in bed, but you can keep up the façade for a bit since it seems to bother Bucky so much.

“Because he doesn’t know you very well.”

“And you think you do?”

“I think I know more about you than he does.” Bucky slowly approaches the sparring ring, keeping his eyes trained on yours the whole time. You don’t move from your spot on the mats.

“List one thing.” You dare him.

“A real sparring match with a man would do the opposite of dampening your mood.” Bucky pulls himself up on the side of the ring, sliding through the ropes with ease and coming to stand a foot in front of you. He studies the way you look on your knees in front of him. He memorizes it.

“You think sparring would be like foreplay for me?” You ask, already knowing that that’s exactly what he’s insinuating. You don’t know why you let him talk to you like this, why you let him cross every single professional boundary again and again. But here you are, on your knees in front of him as he stares down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Do you want to prove me wrong?” Bucky holds his hand out to you, awaiting your decision.

Your back slams against the mats for the third time, knocking the wind out of your lungs and leaving you gasping for air. It takes you a few seconds to catch your breath before you bend your knees and run your hands over your face. When you move your hands, you see Bucky standing above you and a little to your right, looking as smug as ever. He’s practically getting off on throwing you around like this, or at least that’s what you think he’s getting off on. He’s really getting off on hearing all of the heavy breaths, gasps, and soft whimpers that have been leaving your lips over the course of the last fifteen minutes.

“Maybe I should’ve given you a safe word.” Bucky taunts, holding out a hand to help you up. You swat it away and take a deep breath before moving into a sitting position and then rising to your feet. You’re quick to assume a defensive position once again, though you’re learning that being on defense against Bucky is the wrong move.

“I don’t think this is intense enough to require a safe word, unless you think you’ll need one.” You huff. The two of you begin moving in a slow circle around the ring, sizing each other up once again.

“You sure about that? How much more can you take?” Bucky challenges you. You exhale slowly as you fight to calm your racing heart and come up with a plan of attack.

“I can take whatever you have to give me.” You must’ve spent too much time around Bucky lately, because the innuendo that just left your lips is on par with the kinds of things he normally says. He falters at the implication of your words, letting his hands fall away from his defensive position for just a moment. You take your shot, rushing forward and shoving his chest with both hands as you lock your ankle around the back of one of his knees and knock him off balance. He goes tumbling backward, but before you can break away from him to maintain your own balance, he grabs your wrists and takes you down with him. You land on top of him on the mats with a soft thud. You begin scrambling to take control of the situation, attempting to free your wrists from his hold to pin his arms down on the mats. A low laugh erupts from Bucky’s chest as he witnesses your struggle. He actually finds it adorable that you think you have even the slightest chance at pinning down his vibranium arm. He lets you try for a moment, watching as you expend a little more of your energy, before he takes charge. Bucky easily breaks your grasp on his forearms and then grabs your right hand, tugging you down to his chest. He rolls you both over in one swift move, coming to rest half of his bodyweight on top of you.

“Do you say shit like that to your trainer? Or just me?” He has to ask. You see the tiniest semblance of jealously peeking through his question and it brings a smug smile to your lips instead of his, for once.

“Do you need me to tell you that you’re special?” You tease, trying to free your arms from where he has them pinned down on either side of your head. He watches with poorly veiled amusement as you struggle beneath him. In an effort to gather more strength, you pull your knees up and place your feet flat on the floor, which lets Bucky’s lower body slide between your legs. Your sudden move catches him off guard and he just barely pulls his hips back before his erection has the chance to brush against the crotch of your leggings. You let out a soft sigh as you try once more to break out of his grasp and Bucky can feel his cock growing impossibly harder at your sensual sound. The next sentence that leaves his mouth is one that could take things in one of two very different directions.

“You look so fucking pretty when you’re struggling for me.” He says lowly. You freeze in an instant. When you meet his gaze, focusing in on his blue eyes, warmth suddenly begins to flood your body. You feel your breath hitch in your throat and a sheen of sweat form across your chest. Bucky notices every little physiological reaction he gets out of you. You liked what he said. You fucking liked it. A new boldness comes over him and he licks his bottom lip before biting into it and letting his eyes trail down to your chest. His gaze doesn’t linger there, but you can see the briefest appreciation in it as you lay there and let him look you over. Bucky wants to have you just like this, in his bed. But, if he can only have you like this on the gym mats, he isn’t going to waste the moment. Leaning down until his nose is almost brushing against yours, Bucky still keeps the majority of his weight off of you. He tilts his head to the side and lets his nose graze the shell of your ear. When you feel his lips against your earlobe, your eyes flutter shut and your breath hitches in your throat once again. “So. Fucking. Pretty.” Bucky repeats in a hushed whisper, emphasizing each word. You’re fighting to keep your legs in the exact position they’re in, they’re beginning to shake as you strain to keep them firm. Every single muscle fiber you have wants to take part in spreading your legs. Bucky can feel it. He can feel how badly you want to spread your legs for him, he can fucking feel it. He thinks he might want it even more than you do.

“What was the safe word?” You ask in a breathless whisper. You can feel the movement of Bucky’s lips curling into a devilish smile against the shell of your ear.

“I thought you said you could take whatever I have to give you.” He tsks. His warm breath fanning against your cheek is driving you absolutely insane, and it’s adding to all of the other sensations that are sending your body into overdrive. “You can take it, can’t you?” You’re trembling beneath him and he fucking loves it. You barely even think about his question before you find yourself nodding your head. In the back of your mind, you’re hating the way your body is fully complying with him, but for some reason it feels so good to do exactly what he wants.

“I can take it.” You whisper softly. Bucky pulls back to look into your eyes as his teeth press into his bottom lip.

“Good girl.” You reaction is instant and visceral. A whimper falls from your lips and your eyes close tightly as your legs spread all on their own, giving Bucky the freedom to press his clothed cock against you if he so wishes. But, he doesn’t. He’s completely mesmerized, entranced by your positive response to praise.

That was the moment Bucky realized that you have a praise kink. When you finally gathered yourself and opened your eyes to look up at him, the way he stared back down at you like he wanted to ravage you right there on the mats of the sparring ring sent a jolt of electricity through you. Yeah, you wanted him to do every filthy thing that was running through his mind in that moment. But it was Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes, the man who sleeps with anyone and everyone, the man who is never nice to you. You couldn’t let him have what he wanted, so you came to your senses and finished the fight. You shoved him off of you when he least expected it, sending him to land flat on his back beside you, and then you scrambled to your feet, quick to put a bit of distance between the two of you.

“Had enough already?” Bucky asked in a condescending tone, as he bent his knees and ran his fingers through his slightly damp hair, not making any moves to get off of the mats.

“I said I could take it, I didn’t say I would. Find someone else to fuck around with.” You spit the words back at him with sheer malice.

The following week was torture. Bucky, being the little shit that he is, decided to use your praise kink against you. Knowing your secret made getting under your skin that much easier for him. It started out small, with whispered praises in passing. He was leaving the gym one day when you were halfway through a heavy core workout, and as he passed by you, he couldn’t help himself.

“Look at you, sweating and panting but still looking so fucking pretty.” He said lowly as he passed you, shooting you a smirk as the words left his lips. It set a fire deep in your stomach, which you swore was due to rage, but really, it wasn’t. The heat from that fire went straight to your cunt. You finished your workout in record time before hurrying upstairs to your room and telling yourself how much you hate him while you gave yourself the pleasure you so desperately needed.

As Bucky teased you more and more, he began to become familiar with even the most subtle ways that your body would react to him. When he said just the right things, he could see your breath hitch in your throat, your posture straighten in the slightest, and your pupils dilate as you glared at him. Your eyes showed nothing but hatred but your body sang a different tune entirely, and he was feeding off of it.

It’s now a few days later, and Bucky has grown even more confident in reading your body language. You’re in the kitchen late at night, washing a mug you used earlier in the evening. As you stand at the sink with your back to the rest of the living space and hallway to the bedrooms, Bucky slips out of his room quietly. Honestly, he didn’t know you’d still be up and out of your own room. He was planning to grab a cold bottle of water from the fridge and get back to his sleepless night, but there you are, in those little pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt that almost makes the shorts pointless. When he joins you in the kitchen, you’re instantly aware of the heightened tension in the air around you both. You watch out of the corner of your eye as Bucky pulls the fridge open and retrieves a cold bottle of water. You listen as he unscrews the lid and takes a long sip, before screwing the lid back on and leaning against the island behind you. You continue washing the mug, spending way too much time rinsing the soapy bubbles off of the ceramic dish.

“You’re not going to look at me?” Bucky asks. His voice is tense, filled with anticipation. You refuse to turn around an face him. You finish rinsing the mug and shut the faucet off, shaking the mug over the sink to get off the excess water. As you reach to your left for the hand towel that sits on the countertop, Bucky suddenly rushes forward, reaching his arms around either side of you and letting his hands rest on the countertop. You try to act unbothered as you dry the mug and keep your breathing as even as possible. He isn’t even touching you. His chest is only an inch or two away from your back but the proximity makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “Come on, look at me.” Bucky coos. He leans down and lets his nose brush against your ear so lightly that it tickles and you pull your head to the side, away from him. As your heart rate increases and the warmth between your legs begins to grow, you start to think. He has the advantage. He’s had the advantage for a week now and you’re sick of it. You want an advantage of your own. As Bucky waits for a response from you, your mind races back to the night you sucked on his finger in this very kitchen. You got to him that night and he stayed away from you for days after that. You want that advantage over him again, you need it. So, you let that need guide your actions. As you inhale a deep breath, you turn your head and let your cheek brush against Bucky’s, catching him by surprise. He pulls away an inch and turns to look into your eyes. His surprise quickly fades into a look of pride as he sees you doing exactly what he wanted, looking right at him. “Good girl.”

“Bucky…” You feign a whimper, setting the mug and towel down on the countertop before mirroring his position. You place each of your hands right beside his on the edge of the countertop and lightly press your ass back against him. You’re not even a little bit shocked when his erection makes contact with your ass, you knew he’d been getting his own twisted enjoyment out of this little game. As you grind gently against him, he draws in a sharp breath and you face forward once again, glancing down at your hands on the countertop. “Look at how much bigger your hands are.” You say incredulously, noting the size difference as he peers over your shoulder. “I’m so glad we never tried to fuck, I don’t think I would’ve been able to take you.” You whisper.

Bucky stiffens behind you and you’re sure that you actually feel his cock throb against your ass before he pulls his hips away. In a flash, his hands are gone from the countertop and he’s retreating, leaving you by the kitchen sink.

That was the moment you realized Bucky has a size kink, the moment you leveled the playing field.

TAG LIST:

@sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @blackhawkfanatic @kentokaze @nyashonality @h2oaffirmations @lulawantmula @i-l-y-3000

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #mcu #marvel #the winter soldier #winter soldier

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dcxdpdabbles · 27 days

Text

DCxDP Fic Idea: New Management

It starts off small, in controlled, barely noticeable areas of Gotham.

Over days, the litter and trash vanish, the sidewalks are washed and cleaned, and even building yards long since abandoned are trimmed. No one notices at first because Gotham is so used to ignoring how dirty everything is until Poison Ivy makes a public announcement thanking the person who cleaned up Gotham's parks.

You know, while she was tearing up that one street with her vine monster.

After the Bats had her locked away pending a trial, they stopped to look around and realized, yes, someone had been cleaning house. No one really knows who, but things have started to change. Streetlights are replaced, graffiti is painted over, and cracked windows are fixed. It's a nice thought, but all this had the gangs up in arms, especially when their tagging disappeared.

To control the goodie-two-shoes, a few gangs burn down a few local parks- mostly the ones near or around Crime Alley- and they also loot the smaller businesses. It's a warning that the mystery housekeeper should be reminded of their station, but- well, it's all for nothing because, like magic, the following night, the damage is repaired and somehow better than before.

What's crazy is the water change. Everyone notices that right away.

Gotham's water system was just as corrupted and descriptive as its class system. If you were one of the elites- your water was clean and crisp- if you were one of the poor- your water was practically tar with how contaminated it was. Anyone in between got a fifty-fifty chance of drinkable water, depending on what side of the city they lived on.

It became an identifier, really. Depending on how often you were seen at stores buying bottled water, people could tell how well off your family was.

That's why, on a random Wednesday, Gotham lost their collective mind that the entire water system was fixed. Regardless of class, every household had clear, scent-free water from the tabs.

The few who wandered outside trying to figure out what in the world was happening were left stunned at the sight of Gotham's surrounding bodies of water.

They were clean.

All the rivers, the harbors, the silly little fountains found around Old Gotham- everything. It was safe to swim in them now. That was just wrong.

"What's happening?" Jason growls, crouching at one of Wayne Manor's main windows. His eyes are barely visible over the edge, allowing him to peek out into the yard, but he must not be fully visible, lest he become a target.

"I don't know," Tim hisses, taking a similar position on the second floor. He grips the communicator with a white-knuckle grip, trying his best to ground himself. "I just don't know. There are no witnesses, no evidence, no clues whatsoever on who's doing this to the city!"

"I don't like this!"

"No one does, Jason," Bruce intervenes; the accompanying sound of keys typing is familiar background noise. He's still in the cave, attempting to run through all reports of horrified Gothamites on social media, trying to find a pattern. "Babs? Do you have any new updates?"

"No!" She hisses, her typing sounding far more aggressive. "I can't find anything on those responsible. Nothing on the internet, nothing on public camera feeds, and nothing on rumors through dark web chats. It's like I'm trying to track a ghost!"

"This isn't natural, B," Steph cuts in. She's hiding in her bedroom closet, voice low in case her mom hears. After they realize some new lunatic is running loose in Gotham, her mom calls her back home to barricade them. If they had a bomb shelter, they would have been in it long ago.

"It's worse than we think," Duke huffs. He's somewhere near the top floor, having chosen a higher vantage point, hoping his meta powers would spot someone coming towards the manor. "I think I see glimpses of blue in the sky. If this continues at this rate, we'll have a clear blue sky in about two hours."

Multiple gasps of horror are heard throughout the communication lines. Bruce starts to type faster, barking orders for everyone to remain where they are and not go gather information. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

Damian stands with a confused Cass, Dick, and Alfred. The only bats not originated from Gotham, so while they can claim to have years in the city, none of them truly know. "I do not understand. Is this not beneficial to Gotham?"

"It may be too much at once, Master Damian." The Bulter tells him carefully. He only speaks that slowly when Alfred thinks of every word before saying it. "Whoever is behind this must not be from Gotham. If they were, they know that people would lose their collective minds upon the improvements."

"But who could be responsible?" Cass asks, watching Jason duck and army crawl to a new window once some sunlight manages to break through the clouds where he was originally hiding.

"I wish I knew Miss Cass."

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton leans back in his computer chair in a dimension of hope and a skip away. He laces his fingers together, bending them until satisfying cracks are heard. It was a productive hour of work, but he thinks now that his virtual city had cleaner water, his NPCs should start healing and developing better.

He was suspicious of Madam Gotham—a new ghost that appeared within his territory of the Ghost Zone—but after a quick conversation, he decided to befriend her. Danny is glad he did, seeing as she was in danger of fading away. Her core had suffered severe damage due to denying her obsession for so long.

Danny could do nothing for her. Madam Gotham needed professional help that only certain Yetis could offer. Although the Yetis usually turned away anyone not of their kind, with Danny backing her up, they had been willing to take in Madam Gotham.

She had been stubborn, though, refusing to get help because she was too busy playing her silly little game. The computer she played it on was unique to her realm and could not withstand the cold temeture of the Far Frozen. Danny was literally watching her melt—a horrific reminder of Dani and her siblings' disabling—before he could take it anymore.

Only after agreeing to watch her video game did she decide to be moved to the Far Frozen to receive medical treatment. Now, Danny never really liked those farming simulator games, but this was different in the sense that the city was already there.

His job was to further develop the city into a utopia. It was interesting to learn what modern issues the city had and how he could make decisions based on point costs on what to fix.

He gained points from making his citizens happier, supporting the Bats—the city's defenders—or choosing to develop options that significantly raised the value of his city.

It was rather addicting, really. He could see how Madam Gotham got so sucked in, even though it didn't really have much action for him to make. Mostly, he would let his citizens react to his new choices and use his points to delete trash and gunk.

There were some side quests he liked to work on, too, like helping certain citizens with drug addiction, depression, anxiety, or anger issues. Danny has no idea why Madam Gotham allowed so many to develop so badly, so every day, he would give them all one good luck point to brighten their days.

He had three full tabs of characters, a brief explanation of their lives, and whatever issues Danny could make them go through. He would tackle the number of homeless youth next by fixing up the city's affordable housing and infrastructure.

It was a bit narcissistic of Madam Gotham to name her game town "Gotham City," but it's better than any name Danny could have come up with.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #New Managment #Part 1 #Danny is playing sims with Gotham #Everyone Gotham born is freaking out #It's not natrual #Gotham was actively making things worse for them #Danny is not aware that he's a managing a actual city

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leisureflame · 1 month

Text

"I CANT THINK"

If you write, I assure you you have thought that.

Fear no more child, for I have found a solution.

it's called Rapid writing

something we learned when I was in 9th grade drama class and I cannot emphasize enough just how effective it is. Its actually what gave me the idea for my first book.

Stop what you are doing and do what I tell you

go grab either a pencil and paper (or open an empty document)

set a timer for 2 minutes

ask a friend to give you a random sentence. I have a few examples that I myself rapid wrote to: a) I looked around and saw b) the old lady hung from the ceiling and laughed c) purple paint dripped from her long purple fingernails d) there is a hole in my ceiling. e) when I am sad I... f) When you close the door, I... g) there is a wooden door with a gold doorknob

Now the most important thing is not to think of this sentence before you start writing. as soon as you decide which one if you are choosing from my examples (or as soon as you hear it if you are getting if from a friend), start the timer.

start writing the sentence and without hesitating just keep writing. the #1 rule here is to not stop or hesitate for a single second until the 2 minutes are over. you can write nonsense if you want and if you REALLY can't continue then write some random words for a couple of seconds then continue AS LONG AS YOU ARE STILL WRITING.

another rule is that you are not allowed to delete. even if its a spelling error, just ignore it.

after the timer is done, I promise you will have something to work with. now copy the paragraph you wrote and paste it below, here you can start fixing spelling errors and adding things at your own pace because now the creative side of your brain has opened.

don't think about the way you are writing or the words you use, think about the story you are telling. the idea.

Sometimes you will get something beautiful and deep like I did here:

When I am sad I go to my blanket, not many people know about it, all they think is happening is that a child likes to cuddle in a blanket, but no. my blanket has a special thing about it, it is a magical blanket, well, not the blanket itself but the embroidery on the blanket, it simply takes my sadness away but it adds the story of my emotions to the embroidery, my blanket is a very pretty one, it is a pastel blue color and it has so much silk embroideries that you just think its patterns, but it isn't, if you look deeper you will find stories every one of those stories came from someones tears... my tears. whenever i cry, i wipe my tears with my blanket and my pain goes but my story stays.

there is a wooden door with a gold doorknob on the door there is a painting of you, and there are many locks on the door from top to bottom, when you open the door, there is a mirror. this door is the door to self discovery, from the outside there is a painting of how people think you look like but when you open the door, you get to see what you really are in detail and look at yourself they way you want to, you can smile or cry and the refection on the mirror will change but on the painting, it doesn't show ur emotions, just how people see you usually.

or you can get something so stupid like i did here:

there is a hole in the ceiling in my classroom. everyday a dinosaur would a pear and eat my lunch and i keep coming home hungry but my mom dsays she packed me enough food. so she didn't feed me. i told her a dinasour was eating my lunch but she said that disasours only live in Norway! so i went into the school vents looking for that idino and revenge my food, we met at last, held our weapons, i was holding a subway sandwich and the dino was holding a bana na MY BANANA i lost it, so i attacked him one hit on the head and the whole species were extinct , people thousand of years from now said dinos got extinct because of a meteorite but i know better, also i am still alive because whoever kills a dino becomes immortal, also i killed my mom for not believing me and let her starve in her grave just like she let made me starve. and then i killed everyone who was a flat earther because i hate them and now i can kill anyone once i tap them with my super subway sandwich

(by the way, ignore the horrible spelling, the examples i gave were from the unedited version.)

THE POINT IS ITS ACTUALLY SO HELPFUL. you can use it for a new story idea (i used the blanket one as an element in one of my WIPs and it helped the story a lot) or if you get something stupid like the dino one I wrote THATS GOOD THATS FINE because now you have your creativity going.

I challenge you to actually try this and PLEASE share it with me I LOVE reading other peoples rapid writings. have fun <3

tagging @cosmosandcapybaras24 @ajsbookshelf @gloryofdawn, @chaoticharmony93 @deception-united and anyone else who's interested to try this out and share with me!

#writing #creative writing #writing tips #creativity #writers block #creative block #writer stuff #writeblr

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jymwahuwu · 6 months

Note

Food for thought, High-cloud Quintet era:

Jing Yuan, Dan Feng and Yingxing helping their innocent Darling (same darling bc its fun!) with "Stamina and Flexibility" training fwhile (and esp when) they have darling assist them in their work after a certain Sword Champion turned their request to be a disciple down for the nth time.

To make it more fun, there is no fixed schedule plan as in order to be a warrior, one must always be prepared to deal with unexpected situations after all:

- Dodging random and unexpected tendrils made of water by a certain high elder to test ones reflexes.

-Maintaining their concentration when meditating whilst being strapped down on a... "concentration training" machine made by a certain blade smith.

-Maintaining concentration and ability to strategize whilst being folded into different poses during a match of star chess with a languid Lieutenant.

For example, whilst also having to assist them while they work. They are busy people, you can't expect them to take time off their schedule to dedicate it to training you alone, would you?

-one of the peeps who hunts the comments section

This is so delicious, I immediately thought of what that would be like… 😌🫶

-CW: yandere, abuse of trust, overstimulation, sex machine

You are so naive and innocent... You are all focused on how to improve your strength and contribution, and you don't realize that there is something wrong with their "training"…

Dan Feng:

Imbibitor Lunae has the ability to manipulate water, weave rain and dew, create storms, and even split seawater, so training with water is really something you can expect. You just didn't expect…High Elder's training to be so…random. From HSR's description, we can know that Vidyadhara possesses a technology called cloudhymn magic, which can make them almost completely invisible and appear quietly around people. So… you were attacked completely randomly.

The water occasionally sprays onto your underwear, wetly revealing the shape of your sexual organs inside. You squirmed uncomfortably and closed your legs to avoid others noticing that water was dripping between your legs for no reason… You didn't want to be thought of as a weirdo who was in heat anytime and anywhere…

Dan Feng didn't even come to you on purpose. He showed no emotion when he did this. The High Elder sometimes wiggles his fingertips a little and your underwear is soaked, and then he goes to have lunch and deal with the daily affairs of Vidyadhara. Sometimes, your chest will also get wet, causing two puddles of water on the clothes on your chest. It's so embarrassing! You have to cross your arms over your chest to cover it up and then go change.

But…the "training" that requires taking off clothes is different. Dan Feng asks you to remain still. For an hour continuously, the warm water sprays on your private parts, the effect is like masturbation in the shower… You have to resist moving. This is a challenge of endurance and willpower…

Yingxing:

This talented weapon forger has gained a good reputation most of the time… Many people have commented that he is arrogant, but Yingxing does have the qualifications of "arrogance".

You trust Yingxing. He is so sweet and builds those weapons for you for free. He put decorations on the weapons he gave you and engraved them with beautiful patterns that suit you.

So… Even though Yingxing gave you that weird "concentration training" machine, you accepted it. That machine is automated…or it operates according to the program created by Yingxing, with more than ten modes.

In the normal mode, you only need to sit on the dildo of the machine (what Yingxing did not tell you is that the shape of the dildo is according to his…), and be penetrated deeply and trembled at the frequency of thrusting. This machine always seeks out your sensitive spots and stimulates them long-lasting and thoroughly. In full mode, your hands and legs are immobilized, and your nipples are caressed and rubbed for constant overstimulation.

Yingxing asks for your feedback and improves the machine. Maybe you should consider some suggestions…

Jing Yuan:

Jing Yuan coaxes you - this is about concentration and strategic skills training. If you can't strategize without interruption, you will suffer defeat in combat. He's just doing it for your own good. This…sounds reasonable?

At least once a day, you have to play chess with Jing Yuan, but the distraction is that you have to sit on his cock and fiddle with the chess pieces. He unbuttoned his pants and took out his fat cock, which was erect. He held his chin, narrowed his eyes and smiled, urging you to sit up. It took you a lot of courage to sit on it for the first time, and the unfamiliar cock almost split you open. So…thick and long. You moaned softly with every inch he thrust in, and his thumb rubbed your private parts to help lubricate you. Sitting completely on it is a terrifying experience. Pleasure bewilders and corrupts your brain…

Maybe this is what Jing Yuan meant by "training"? About whether you can focus on strategizing.

Of course you are… unable to focus. It collapsed in a few steps. Your fingertips tremble as you place the chess pieces. The brain cannot think about the next strategy and route…

After a few months, you get better at it, a little bit, but every time you get close to reaching "victory," you're screaming and bouncing on the general's cock, missing the chance of "victory" in orgasm...

#yandere dan feng x reader #yandere blade x reader #yandere jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere jing yuan #blade x reader #honkai x reader #hsr x reader #hsr blade x reader #blade x you #hsr x you

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pinkanonwrites · 6 months

Text

"Oh! That's What That Does?!"

All art by @archie-sunshine

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 2400+ Words NSFW, Valveplug, Plug 'N Play, Mild Sparkplay, Accidental Stimulation, Edging, Human Reader, GN Pronouns

Ahh, the inherent eroticism of repairing your machine.~ I've had this one cooking for a while, so I hope you all enjoy! I've also gotten pretty attached to this mechanic Reader, so they'll likely pop up again with other cassettes (and maybe even some other Decepticons!)

NSFW WRITING AND IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT!

“Ey… EY! Careful wit’ dat! It’s touchy!”

“Rumble,” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn't be complainin’ if you'd stop touchin’ all up on bits that don't gotta be touched! Rootin’ around in there like I'm one’a your crappy organic machines!”

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in.

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

“Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~”

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just… take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow. Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.”

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.

“Comm me next time yer free, doc. Then I can repay da favor.”

#transformers #valveplug #transformers x reader #rumble #transformers rumble #rumble x reader #transformers imagines #g1 transformers #my writing #long post

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your-nanas-house · 6 months

Note

Could you write something about how cillian would deal with being married to a younger reader with a high sex drive. She's very needy and he tries his best to satisfy her but it's hard to keep up for him with his age and maybe he just lets her use him sometimes like a dildo.

I mean...plzzz? Love it 😭

My living dildo

◇ Pairing: Cillian Murphy x wife!Reader

◇ Warnings: age gap (Cillian 40s and Y/n 20s), smut, needy reader

◇ Summary: Y/n gets horny after his husband gets a cramp because of his age.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English.

Y/n's gaze was fixed on her husband who was reading in their bed, wearing only boxers and a short-sleeved shirt.

She was leaned against the doorframe, wearing just her pink short nightgown, barefoot and hair down— her bottom lip caged between her teeth.

She shifted her attention for a moment, spreading the cream on her thigh, before hearing a groan of pain coming from her older husband. Her gaze shot up, looking at Cillian to see if he was alp right just to find him with his hands on his leg, complaining about a cramp he was heaving at his left leg.

In a quick motion, Y/n moved away from where she was to help him, her hand reached for his bare leg, helping him stretch it carefully— her touch moved higher and higher on his thigh, massaging his pale freckled skin and moving closer to his clothed crotch.

As soon as Cillian's cramp vanished and his attention quickly "jumped" on her hands which were still moving, reaching now his clothed crotch

"Love" he started, a mild-panic in his eyes "I can't—" he continued before Y/n shushed him with a loving kiss, pleading eyes looking at his handsome face while her hand rubbed slowly, following the length of his hardening and abused cock.

It was the fourth time that they made love that day and Cillian was clearly a bit exhausted, his cock— having its own mind— had other ideas, reason because he was rock hard in a couple of minutes, even though he hadn't energies to fuck his younger wife again.

"Yer so needy" Cillian commented, grunting softly due to her touch.

His hand rubbed her hips softly when her hand moved up to his torso to push him in a lying position

"Just for you, honey" she murmured in a soft tone, biting her bottom lip while her hips started to grind against him.

"Fuck, love" Cillian purred softly as Y/n worked on his pants, releasing his hard thick cock; her body moved fast on her own, reaching for the lube they had on the nightstand ready to spread it on her husband's throbbing cock— whom hissed at the sudden contact.

As soon as Y/n made sure that it was ready she quickly positioned his tip at her entrance, moving carefully down, letting him stretch and fill her again

"Fucking hell— yes!" Y/n screamed when she started to bounce, riding her husband wildly, using his length for their pleasure, mostly hers— Since she was riding him like if she was using her dildo in a lonesome night.

Cillian's moans and praises made her going, reaching the pick quite quickly but ending up continuing to steal orgasms after orgasms from both of them.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @mrkdvidal1989

#cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x y/n #cillian fic

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aphroditesmoon · 5 months

Note

heyy for the clarisse head cannons, maybe a enemies to lovers w clarisse

enemies to lovers hcs with clarisse

clarisse la rue x fem!reader

warnings: fighting, mild violence, kissing.

- I feel like you would probably be in athena cabin or hermes, (or whichever ur prefer)

- clarisse has a lot of people who hate her, but no one brave enough to challenge he, until she met you.

- the two of you match eachother's skills, and it's frustrating for clarisse to admit that you're actually good.

- "you really think you're all that, don't you?"

- "of course not, we both know no ones better than you, clarisse."

- you probably meant it literally, but everyone watching laughs anyway.

- everytime you spar with her, its not because you want to humiliate her but simply because you're intrigued by clarisse.

she was an angry, violent girl, and you wondered deep down if that was the only side of her that existed.

- she doesn't know that ofc.

- she thinks everytime you try to be funny or nice to her, you're just being patronizing.

- for example, when you tell her she's not that bad or try to help her up after you win she's sure that you meant it in a mocking way.

- that was until she got beef with the new kid percy jackson and he broke her spear 💀

- when you found her alone in the ares cabin while everyone's eating dinner, you tried to comfort her. she doesn't appreciate the notion.

- "you shouldn't have went after him, clarisse." you told her.

- "how was I supposed to know he was a son of the big three?" she snapped back, refusing to look anywhere else but atnthe spear.

- the cabin was sileny for a moment before yoi spoke again, "maybe you could give it over to the haphaestus kids, they could fix it."

- "this is a magical spear, not a normal one." she answers back.

- she assumed you came to gloat, to tell her she deserved it, to call her a bully like everyone else did, but she was weirdly comforted by your presence instead. she didn't have to lie or pretend to be strong in front of you, something she learned of after a few months in of sparring with you is that you wouldn't hit someone during their weakest.

- "I remember the first gift my mom/dad gave me when I first got here. a knife, It meant so much to me, but I didn't know that it wasn't invincible, I broke it while trying to pull it out of a tree after I accidentally staked it into."

- clarisse was quiet for a moment before turning to you with a frown and said: "that's so stupid."

- you smiled at her and nodded your head. "yeah it was." she smiled back at you and shook her head. "I can't believe thats the same person who beat my ass last week."

- your eyes widened. "I can't believe you're actually admitting that I've beat your ass." she scoffed at that.

- "how did it end up in the tree anyways?" She asked. you blinked for a few times and reluctantly responded, "I tried to carve my name onto the tree." you could tell clarisse was so baffled by it that she wanted to laugh, but instead she just stared at you with her mouth wide open.

- "thats-" "stupid, yeah, you already said that."

- "carving your name on a tree? really? what, were you 10 years old or something?"

- you were 10. "I was 10 actually." "oh." her face relaxed, all of it finally making sense.

- "anyways, what I mean is, at least your spear went out in a fight. I'm sure your father must be really proud of you."

- clarisse looked away immediately, as if the idea of her father at all, hurted her.

- "you know nothing about my father."

- you shrugged and sat next to her on her bed. "I don't, but I know you. and I'd say you did pretty damn well.".

- you expected her to snap at you again, that was her thing, confronted by kindness or any kind of empathy, fight or flight. but instead she smiled sadly at you. "you think so?"

- you answered yes and inched closer to her. "everyone at camp is either scared of you, or they respect you. that respect didn't come out of nowhere."

- clarisse nodded her head, staring back down at the spear on her lap. "do you really think they can fix it?"

- "it's worth a try." you told her.

- the next time you see her was the following day after she and the other cabin leaders were gathered together for Percy to choose for his quest.

- you noticed she still tries ti act cold with you, but she was less meaner than before.

- "chiron gathered the best of the best to join the quest." she had told you when you asked her where she went.

- "and he asked you to be there?"

- "what, you don't think im good all of the sudden?" she asks, glaring at you.

- you rolled your eyes at her. "I know you're good, but I also know that you tried to kill Percy yesterday, not exactly team spirit is it?"

- she considered it for a moment and shrugged. "who cares, at least that punk will be gone for a while. everything can go back to normal." you follow her as she walked out of the cabin with a normal spear.

- "normal as in?"

- "normal as in, I'm going to kick your ass."

- the two of you sparred for an hour and a half, you wont say that you were holding back today, but you weren't exactly giving her your all. you liked to see the eay she smiled everytime she won, even if it was annoyingly smug.

- that same night, rumors were going around that clarisse was going soft. breaking her infamous spear, befriending her nemesis.

- "we're not friends," she told her cabin siblings. "It's not my fault she's obsessed with me."

- when word got out about what she said, you decided that maybe trying to get to know clarisse was a bad idea. not really being the confrontational kind of person, you just stopped talkiing to her.

- it was a few days later when she went out of her way to find you. all the cabins were in disarray. they were all choosing sides between zeus and poseidon after the news broke that the two powerful gods we're against eachother.

- uncharacteristically, clarisse aided with poseidon. she weighed her choices as cabin leader and daughter of ares and decided it was the best option

- (if you're a daughter of athena) then, you sided with zeus. athena is known to having feud with the god poseidon, and you would side your mother.

- (if you're in the other cabins), then you just use the feud as an excuse to not talk to her, claiming that all kinds of provocative interaction should be kept om a liminal time.

- clarisse found you in the bathroom and tried to get you to listen to her.

- "you're saying that this feud bothers you so much that you've just completely stopped talking to me?"

- "I think, that I'd like to stop being so obsessed with you, considering it was you who said that you wanted me out of your hair."

- she chased after you as you walked out of the bathroom and pulled you to the side.

- " I didn't mean it that way." she was lying and you both knew that.

- "you know what your problem is clarisse? you care so much of what other people think of you, what their perception of you is like. people who wouldn't blink twice if you were in danger. but what about the people who do care about you? the people who want to keep caring about you?"

- your words caught her off guard, she knew it was her fault but she didn't think as far as you had said.

- "I care about you too." she says honestly.

- "you don't hurt people you care about." and she knew that. she knew what it felt like to be scorned and hated by the person you love. and clarisse la rue, will not be like her father.

- "give me one chance to make it up to you, let us start over again." she pleaded.

- you might resent her for what she had done, but that doesn't mean you're immune to her wishes. "one chance."

- "one chance." she agreed.

- the next day, while everyone was out practising, she finda you helping a younger girl in your camp with her stance in fighting and called you to the side.

- "I got something for you." she said.

- the two of you walked a bit further away from other people but she stopped and pull out something from her pocket.

- "the haphaestus kids couldn't fix my spear, but I did get them to work out something new for you."

- it was a knife, similar to your old on2, but the engraved heart shape on the black holder was different. The holder was made if rubbee, easier to grip, and the tip was sharper than anything you've seen.

- "this is for me?" she nodded and placed it into your right palm.

- "it's not magical, but it'll be useful."

- you did not hesitate to pull her by the back of her head to lean down and meet your lips halfway.

- and she did not hesitate to wrap her own arms around your nwck and waist to kiss you back just as strongly.

- "I'm gonna get laughed at for this aren't I?" she muttered against your lips as she pulls away slightly.

- "not something you can't handle." you decided with a small smile on your lips.

- "right, definitely not something I can't handle." she agreed.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #pjo series #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #the lightning thief #dior goodjohn #wlw

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