#someone inevitably pops in with ‘or even better! she can do it for him!’

[mandaloriandragontrainer]

Controversial opinion of the night:

Rayla was raised in a culture that would cast out or even kill* her for fear or weakness. She views herself as a mean of defense for others, or even as a pawn to be sacrificed for someone else’s sake.

So maybe a situation in which she is cared for or rescued or romanced isn’t stripping her character of agency or reducing her to a love interest or whatever the complaint is. Maybe her playing the damsel in distress demonstrates that she is not only a protector but also someone who deserves protection, and who has inherent value just for being herself, not for her abilities.

Also Callum swooping in to rescue her is heckin’ romantic

#*book one novelization #because every time I make a post about how I want callum to do [insert soft romantic thing] for rayla #someone inevitably pops in with ‘or even better! she can do it for him!’ #yeah we know but maybe rayla would appreciate being the one who’s tenderly cared for and protected for once in her life??? #so yeah… I want callum to carry her in his arms #because she’s carried herself her whole life #and she deserves to be treasured and cherished and sheltered #the dragon prince #rayla #rayllum #unpopular opinions by mando #mando ramblo

[visualbutterflysworld]

Meet my girlfriend | VHackerr

While on stream the chat hears you in the background and begs to met you.

love you vin ! this is for my black girls frfr but only a section

“AH FUCK!” Vinnie hears you scream. He would’ve hurried to your aid but he’s frozen because he’s streaming. With you being so loud the chat hears you. Vinnie’s eyes shift to his monitor partly afraid and partly intrigued

“Who was that?”

“Was that a girl!?”

“WHO WAS THAT?”

“Vinnie you’re cheating on me!?”

“Ahhh! I knew he was dating someone!”

Vinnie licks his lips as he can’t come up with an excuse. He sighs heavily before he starts to talk. “That was my girlfriend. Who screamed.”and that’s when the chat blows up. He sees the views ranking up which means he’s probably trending on twitter not even 5 minutes after he said that.

“Babe!” Vinnie yells for you. You come quickly, standing in the doorway with a confusion look as you know he’s streaming. He relaxes in his chair as he looks at you with a lazy smile. “They heard you. The chat wants to meet you.” You widen your eyes. “Oh! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know I was that loud.” You put your head down in disappointment.

“It’s okay, love, please come say hi.” He smiles even harder as you slowly make your way to him. You glance at the chat. You see so many comments.

“HE CALLED HER LOVE”

“SUCH A WARNER MOVE”

“AHH SHE SOUNDS SO SWEET AND INNOCENT”

“SHE SOUNDS LIKE SILK”

“AHHH”

“Say hi.” Vinnie says as you look unsure. “Can i stay out the frame?” You ask and Vinnie nods, honestly glad he could keep what you look like to himself. “Hi, chat.” You say shyly. “This is my girlfriend guys. Should we give her a nickname?”

The chat floods the comments section with ideas and names. “Mm. Buttercup? I like buttercup. She acts like her from the power puff girls.” “I do not!” You yell! Vinnie laughs as he looks at your little pout. “She does too! Don’t let the cuteness fool you!” Vinnie smiles as he sees more questions pop up.

“Okay, baby, you wanna play lighting round? Answer real quick and short?” Vinnie asked before looking at your almost bare legs. His imagination going off the rails. “Sure.” You put your arms behind your back.

“What’s your age?”

“I’m 23!”

There were a few comments about you and Vinnie’s age gap but hey it could be worse.

“Occupation?”

“I’m a journalist.”

“Favorite color?”

“Depends on my mood. I like sage green, lilac, blue and light pink. Sometimes green and yellow.”

“How long have you and Vinnie been dating?”

“Almost five months!”

“Favorite physical part of vinnie?”

“His smile. He has one of the most beautiful smiles.”

Vinnie couldn’t help but smile. “Compared to her’s mine is pure shit.” You hit him and that’s when the comments blew up more.

“SHES PAC?!”

“BEEN KNEW VINNIE LIKED BLACK GIRLS”

“TWITTER IS FINNA FREAK!”

“VINNIE GOT HIM SOME SPICE!”

“BEEN WAITING FOR HIM TO GET A PAC GIRL!”

You laughed at all the comments. “Yes, I’m black. Thank you guys for noticing.” Vinnie snorted. “Now everyone can shut up about what I like.” You rolled your eyes as you continue reading the comments. Some were unfriendly but it didn’t faze you too much. It was an inevitable thing to happen.

“Well, everyone, I liked chatting with you all but I want to go lay down now so bye!” You waved and make your way out of his room. “I’ll be there in a little bit babe!” Vinnie called out. “Alrighty!”

Well, that went better than you could hope.

#vincent hacker #vinnie hacker #vhackerr #bwwm couples #bwwmromance #oneshot #love #lovers #vinnie hacker x reader

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Part 12

MASTAPOST

huge credit for their support and betaing to @brekitten

And credit to @adonneniel for sam’s last line :3

Tucker’s fingers flew over the keyboard as sweat rolled down his eyes. The cave was supposed to be cool and damp, but he felt as if placed under a heat lamp. Lines of code, addresses and file names filled the screen. New windows and notifications popped up faster than he could chase them down. The presence of his giant in the hacking world crept closer and closer. His chest cramped from heavy breaths. Sam was barely a few feet away, muttering an incantation, but the distance felt like miles. Each new line of code seemed to shift the walls of the cave inwards or outwards depending at random. He kept going. He couldn’t stop. Not with Danny out there and alone.

He always thought himself as good at hacking. Good with tech. The guy who could turn Skulker’s suit into puppetry. The guy who could out-hack fucking Technus. But maybe he was always just a small fish in a small pond. As the enemy hacker closed in on Tucker, each wave surrounding him, infiltrating like rats into a battered house of cards.

Tucker knew it was inevitable, but to see it happen was something else.

The enemy hacker got it. Got everything Tucker had ever stored on this laptop. His location, his destroying of evidence. His tampering with the sonars to ignore Danny. His attempt at erasing the video footage showing Danny sneaking off. Everything was in the hands of a stranger whose face Tucker would never see.

The only thing keeping him from fully breaking down was the comfort that the real incriminating data was safely locked away in his room, on a server that would brick itself if anyone other than Team Phantom tried to get in. That he made sure of, not just with tech, but with Sam’s spells.

It was cold comfort, though. Not a complete catastrophe, but still fucking awful.

Tucker sat back, watching glumly, helpless to do anything more. His deletion program ran in the background, destroying everything, but it was too late anyway.

Sam growled in frustration. “It’s not working. This stupid Mercator Projection map is fucking with the spell. I can’t tell if he’s in Hawaii or Mexico City.”

She crumpled up the cheap map they’d bought from the tourist shop and stomped on it with a thumping vengeance. They would’ve brought an entire globe, the bigger the better, but that would get them noticed, and flying under the radar was the whole point.

“Any luck?”

Tucker gestured to his computer, about to be bricked again. “This guy’s a monster. A monster. I’m like a tiny ant compared to him. Every time I make a move he’s made fifteen more.”

“There’s gotta be something else we can do. Come on, Tuck-”

Then the waterfall sprayed over the cove, revealing the Fenton Family SAV.

Shit.

He and Sam locked eyes in a second. Then they broke eye contact. They and Danny had gone over plans for what to do if certain things happened. If someone stole the files on his servers. If someone followed Danny without noticing. If someone found their cove.

Above all else, above everything else, don’t tell them about Danny. Don’t even hint towards it. Play dumb and obfuscate.

Tucker realised belatedly that they never got to practice all of those plans.

Mrs Fenton leapt off the bow, and marched like a woman possessed. Her eyes narrowed. Her shoulders squared up. Her jawline set.

Tucker felt like he was going to die.

“Where’s Danny?” Mrs Fenton all but ordered. “Where is he? Is it true? Is it true that that- that- that Phantom brainwashed all of you into helping him!? What did Phantom do to him?! What happened to my baby?!” Each question echoed louder, more panicked than the last.

What was the rulebook for this situation again?!

Tucker’s mouth dried. Every millisecond not responding put the fear of God into his heart. “Who the heck is Phantom?”

Mrs Fenton’s expression hardened further, if that was possible. Wrong thing to say, fuck.

Sam stepped in front of him, pose defiant, but arms shaking just enough for Tucker to notice. “That’s what we’ve been doing. We’ve been looking for Danny because the adults sure as fucking hell won’t.”

Looking for him, and Damian Wayne, but maybe bringing him up was going to be more trouble than it was worth, seeing as behind Mrs Fenton, Danny’s dad and holy shit was that Bruce Wane trailed up behind her. If it weren’t for the situation, Tucker felt like would’ve died anyway from meeting his idol.

Mr Wayne spoke up next. “I’m sorry we neglected the case of your friend, but you should’ve informed the authorities as soon as you suspected. How long have you known and not told anyone?”

Because telling people about Danny would land him on a VIP seat in the operating theatre! Because it was your freaking son he was trying to save?

Tucker couldn’t tell them that. What could he tell? He clenched his jaw like a vice, searching for a way out of this…

“You guys don’t get to tell us what to do.” Sam ground out. “We’ve been helping Phantom protect this freaking island from the sirens for months, with no help from any of you.”

Right! Good work Sam. Just a tiny hint of the truth and the real secrets stay hidden. Sam, he could kiss her right now (not that he’d ever want to).

Mrs Fenton raised her voice. “Samantha, we’ve been over this. Phantom isn’t a hero like Batman or Wonder Woman or Superman. He’s an inhuman monster staking claim over a territory. He’s tricking you kids!”

“Phantom’s saved us more than we could count! He’s risked his neck for this town.” Sam spat out, squaring up to Mrs Fenton on her steel-toed boots.

“He’s protecting his assets! If Phantom is such a protector, then why would he threaten the mayor, lead the invasion of town and work with Showenhower!?”

“It was all just a m-misunderstanding, Mrs Fenton, I swear!” Tucker said.

Mrs Fenton continued. “And now Danny’s gone. We know he’s been supplying Phantom with our inventions. Don’t you try and play dumb with us, young man. We’ve seen the footage of Danny sneaking out.”

Tucker’s blood ran thinner, and thinner. The cold sweat returned in full force.

Mr Wayne came between them, trying to put space between the two, without much success. “Please, if Phantom is hurting or threatening you in any way, it’s ok to tell us. We can keep you safe. We just need to know what happened to Danny.”

Sam gulped. Loud enough that even Tucker could hear it. It was at times like these Tucker wished Danny’s parents were as inattentive as they were made out to be by the public.

Their silence spoke volumes enough. Tucker wasn’t Batman, and neither was Sam. They didn’t have the chops to talk their way out of this, not enough Charisma to hit the DC checks, but they were also cornered here by the adults. One way or another, Tucker feared for Danny’s secrets.

Mr Fenton spoke up next, his voice uncharacteristically contemplative. “When I showed Danno the new security system and cameras in the lab and arsenal two weeks ago, it felt like he wasn’t as pumped up as I was. At first I thought it was nothing, but looking back it almost looked like fear.”

Well duh! You were showing him all the stuff you were gonna use to tear him into itty bitty pieces! Who wouldn’t be afraid for their life?!

Bruce Wayne crouched to their level, eyes soft like they were traumatized orphans that he was gonna adopt or something. “Did Phantom threaten Danny into giving him wea-”

“NO!” Tucker shouted instantly. A beat passed. His voice echoed through the cave. Shit. With the way the adults were looking at him, he might as well have said yes.

Sam pushed Mr Wayne away, or at least she tried to. The man barely budged, so she just stepped back from him. “Why do you care?! Already looking for another kid to replace the one you lost?”

The Fentons’ eyes widened, their faces in shock. Mr Wayne looked like he’d been punched through the gut and made into a donut. Ouch Sam, what the fuck?!

His voice lowered into a dark timbre, his expression steely cold. “I don’t want any more kids to get hurt. This Phantom needs to be stopped.”

Sam clutched his hand like a clamp. Tucker’s heart sank. What had they just done?

Please be alright, Danny, and Damian Wayne…

In an ocean far far away…

Damian sniffed the water as he clung to Danny’s shoulders again, his tail wrapped around the black and white boy’s waist. The kid had been doing that a lot lately, sniffing. Claimed it was to hone his senses.

“I believe I can smell Atlanteans nearby.” Damian said. Danny took the moment to verify his suspicions with his whole whiff.

“Yeah, looks it.” Danny said. He was a little suspicious though. Damian had refused to speak about what happened in the Atlantean outpost and how he got all this cool stuff. Surely he could’ve have fought them off, so he probably snuck around. Danny couldn’t imagine how terrifying that kind of thing would be. At least he knew his parents and what they were capable of when sneaking around the house and Amity. This kid was literally just some normal rich kid until all this happened.

“Why do you mention it?” Danny asked.

“I believe we it would be beneficial for us to partake in raid.”

Danny blinked.

A raid.

“You raided the Atlanteans and got this stuff. Like, legit raiding.” Danny said, dumbfounded.

“I met little resistance.”

Danny needed a moment to breathe here. His gills flexed open and closed.

“And now you want to raid another settlement. Why? We’re still good on food, and we even have veggies!”

Damian shook his head. “We need a map.”

Danny huffed, fins straightening. “We have a map literally up there!” he pointed up at the orange and purple sky over the sunset. The brightest stars were already beginning to show, with many more on the way.

“The Atlanteans likely keep maps of the local area, including human settlements and islands. There we can find further resources, and establish contact with the human world again.”

Huh. That was actually a pretty solid plan. His friends, sister (and maybe parents, if they noticed) were likely worried sick. A phone wouldn’t do them very well in the water, but even just a call letting them know they were ok would do wonders for their mental health.

That still left one teensy, tiny little issue, though.

“But how did you raid them the first time?!”

“It matters not.” Damian said, fins puffing up with pride. “All that matters is that with your skillset, such a mission will be as easy as breathing underwater.”

This kid was having way too much fun boasting of things no kid should’ve been able to accomplish. Then again, he showed some pretty insane marksmanship with the Wrist Ray the other day, so maybe he really did have the chops to back the ego up.

That acknowledgement did not stop Danny from pulling Damian to his chest, and administering a thorough nooggie, however.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #merman #damian wayne #dcxdp #merboy #angst #mermaid au #bruce wayne #good parents jack and maddie #good parent bruce wayne #tucker foley #sam manson #tuck and sam are doing their best lol #it's a stressful situation #they're 14 and they've only been Team Phantom for 6 months #sirens

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

hey bbg 😽

so i was reading a fic for an entirely different character but i think itd be absolutely adorable for my husb- i mean OUR husband Quill

Maybe reader is like stressed (over smthn i have no idea) and the guardians tried to cheer em up but nothing worked so they brought the big guns: peter. jason. quill.

and he tries to cheer reader up with lil jokes and just the stuff he knows makes reader smile hshsjshjss all the fluff bbg 🛐

hope you can get to this soon! have a great week/end 🫶

-🪐

hii bbg!! angelface, I love it, I love it all. and im glad you corrected yourself, ‘our’, yeah you’re right😏 jk jk, when I talk to you, he’s yours, but here he’s ours🤭 thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

surprise visitor

Peter Quill x f!reader

— word count: 559

— warnings: none, just fluff

₊✧ masterlist + taglist

Whenever you felt stressed, it often accompanied other emotions you were unsure of. You found it difficult to cope and manage the stress, and ultimately it would lead to you shutting down. You didn't like others to know how you felt, so you preferred to keep up the facade and pretend. Lately, you've been feeling more stressed than usual, and it was starting to get you down. It made you feel silly for getting so worked up over nothing. 

The other guardians could tell something was bothering you, more specifically, Nebula. She was often highly observant of everyone around her and would notice the slightest change in others. So she pulled Mantis aside to plan ways to help and comfort you. 

Although the gesture was sweet and heartwarming, it wasn't what you needed. It wasn't what you wanted. What you wanted was Quill, but he wasn't here. He was away on a planet restoration mission with Rocket and Groot, so there was no way of seeing him right now, or so you thought. Once Mantis touched your arm, she could feel what you felt, understand you- even though you couldn't identify it yourself. She could feel how much you missed Peter, so she wanted to give you the one thing that would help, the only person that could soothe and calm you, Quill.

"I heard someone's missin' me," Pete bellows, a playful expression on his face as he enters the ship. "Someone's missin' me real bad," he smirks, pacing towards you. 

"Hi," you earnestly smile, instantly wrapping him up in a tight hug.

"Hi, honey," he says quietly, his lips brushing against your forehead as he strokes your back with his easing palms. 

"I missed you," you muffled into the crook of his neck.

"I missed you," he softly sighs, pulling away to look at you. "Mant told me," he sadly smiles, looking into your eyes. "Not feelin' too good, huh?"

You slowly shake your head, avoiding his soft green gaze.

"I'm sorry, hon," he frowns, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose. "That's okay. You don't have to be okay all the time— well, it's not okay, but not not okay— you know what I mean," he chuckles, clearing his flustered haze. "You get what I'm tryna say," he grins, wrapping his big warm arms around you. 

"I know," you softly laugh into his chest, hugging him tighter as if you were afraid he'll slip through your fingers.

"You know I'm not going anywhere— you're gonna end up popping my lungs," Peter chuckles, brushing slow, comforting strokes over your back. 

"Sorry," you giggle, muffling against him before you pull away. It was the first time you really laughed since he left, and it all felt right. Felt like how it was supposed to. "When do you go back?" you ask, questioning the inevitable.

"I'm not— well, until you're feelin' better," he says, kissing your cheek. "Drax is taking my place," he adds, noticing your puzzled expression.

"What if I never feel better?" you smile, speaking playfully.

"Then I guess I'll have to stay forever," he grins, slipping his hand into yours, leading you to the back of the ship. 

"Where we going?" you ask, catching up with his long strides.

"Secret," he looks over his shoulder, a boyish grin lining his lips. "No, no, just kiddin'. Goin' up top to look at the stars and cuddle."

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

quill taglist: @annielr @spacetalbot @bubblezuku@idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser @queerponcho @selfryed @traiitorjoe

#🪐 #i want a hug from quill so bad omg #peter quill #peter quill x reader #peter quill x you #peter quill x fem!reader #peter quill imagine #peter quill fluff #peter quill fanfic #peter quill comfort #peter quill x female reader #starlord x you #star lord #starlord x reader #gotg

[beegalactica]

Comparison is the thief of joy.

In a world where it seems like everyone else is doing so much better than you, how do you stop comparing yourself to them? You know it's unhealthy and unhelpful but you just can't seem to help it. Don't worry, I've been there and I know exactly what it's like.

Why We Compare Ourselves

Whether we're comparing our appearance; from our eyes to our hair, to even the shape of our fingers; or the grades that we get; the outfits we wear; or the person we are; I believe comparison stems from our insecurities. We may feel like we're not enough in our own right, so we look for people we think are better than us to justify it.

For me over this past week, I've been comparing myself a lot, and that's fine. I can be this confident and self-assured person, but I I still have moments where I don't feel like that - it's just how life works.

My first point of comparison was with a grade that I got in class. I got the second highest and of course, the first thing that popped into my mind was not how good I did on my own, but what I didn't do that relegated me to second place. Reflection is great for improving and bettering yourself, but you know that it has crossed the point into harmful comparison when you start to think: "I'm better than this person at x, y and z so how could they do better than me here?" We often resort to mentally trying to put the other person down so we don't feel so alone 'below' them, but that perpetuates unnecessary negativity.

My second point of comparison had to do with my 'love life'. There is a guy that I like, but we didn't work out, and now the thought of him possibly getting with someone else made me feel so low. It felt like a rejection in the worst way. It felt like the world was saying to me that "I wasn't good enough", not that the timing wasn't right or that it just wasn't meant to be. Obviously, I spent a lot of my time looking at the girl, thinking about all the ways she was prettier than me, taller than me, skinnier than me, etc. I started trying to pull her down in my mind, thinking of all the flaws that she 'had', to hide the fact that I was just insecure that I wasn't enough on my own.

But I refuse to let these events take a toll on my mental health and turn me into a bitter, jealous person because I know that I'm better than that, and I know that you are too.

How To Stop Comparing Yourself

To be honest, I don't know if I can ever get to a point where nothing can faze me at all, because I am human at the end of the day. What I do know is ways to cope and stop myself from spiralling as a result:

Accept the situation - accept the fact that it is what it is. I believe that things happen in life to teach me a lesson or to show me how I can come out of it stronger, and the first step in that journey is to accept that it happened. If things are meant to work out in the end, they will.

Plan your next steps - what are you going to do to give yourself peace of mind? In my case, I'll just have to work harder but also learn to congratulate myself more for the things that I do. I will also have to take some time to figure out why I have these insecurities and work on ways to uplift myself.

Affirm, affirm, affirm - I believe positive affirmations are amazing because who knows you better than you? If I say that I am a smart, hardworking person who is perfect just the way they are, who dares to tell me that I'm not? If I say that I am enough, how can anyone prove that I'm not? Sometimes your biggest enemy can really be your self-concept, but you need to train it to face setbacks and use them to further prove that you are above it all based on the way you deal with it.

Don't act out - don't become a hateful person. It can be hard because we think that it is the only thing that will make us feel better, but it makes us the same as all those other people who seek to pull others down to uplift themselves. Don't let a temporary event change your character.

Comparison is inevitable because the way that our world works is rooted in competition - who is the best? who is the prettiest? who is the smartest? But if you can answer all of those questions saying that you are, then don't let little things get you down. Life is all about growing and evolving, but don't forget to take a moment to celebrate your strengths and remind yourself of just how amazing you are.

You are enough.

I am enough.

#lifeblr #becoming that girl #girlblogger #girlblogging #it girl #self improvement #that girl #self awareness #self care #self love #self development #comparison

[nanabrainrot]

(Don’t) Give Me Lip! [Brat Tamer!Connor Roy]

Brattiness gets you nowhere, but it gets him off at least.

Brat Tamer!Connor Roy/F!Brat!Reader

Warning! This is NSFW and not proofread. It includes: daddy kink, creampie, implied (unspecified) age gap, pussy slapping, and a bit of dom/sub dynamic. Reader is a brat and Connor tried to fix that.

WC: 2271

✎ Love, Connor

It’s not your best moment but his favorite sight: lips split by his cock and throat bulging, head hanging off the bed at you bat at his thighs with useless whines.

You were a bitch. Everyone knew it.

Connor’s girl is a bitch. Her crass lip, scoffs, and fussy attitude. Connor’s girl who whines so childishly to go home, tugging at his sleeve like a mad kid. Connor’s girl who still pouts and pokes her tongue out.

He can deal with that. The way you are in private is enough. It’s just the comment he heard today that bothered him: “He must not be fucking her right if she acts like that.” Followed by someone muttering back, “He probably can’t even get it up.”

The age gap wasn’t the be all end all, but granted you had no grays and his whole head was a mass of gray hair only made the thought simmer, a pot coming to a boil in his belly and stirred by the snarkiness of others. He let you get away with too much.

You’re better quiet like this: mouth stuffed shut.

“Aah, good girl. You’re so sweet like this,” he mumbles between scattered puffy breaths and choked grumbles. He really only told you that you were sweet when you were being fucked good enough to be quiet for once. There was less back talk when you were too stupid to muster up a smart ass quip. You behave better.

That thing you do when you’re all needy pops up just now, bare body twitching with your back against the sheets and whining in squeaks on his wet cock. That back arch. That clench of your toes and unclenching under the thin cotton of your knee socks that you were going to wear to the gym before you gave him lip again.

You wanted to cum. You could cum, if you could palm at your pussy. Your wrists move from clutching at his thighs from where you were batting at them for thrusting too harshly into your little throat - you were seriously going to try and get yourself off?

His hands move from where they were gripping at your tits as you twitched and arched and fly to your moving wrists to lock them by your side. A long whine vibrates against his shaft as you squeal at his sudden movement to deprive you of your orgasm. Each of his hands lock at each wrist to trap them by your hips to the mattress that was steadily creaking as he used your throat as a fleshlight.

“You fuckin’ kidding me? You’re gonna try and play with your pussy after all the shit you’ve been mouthing off all day?” he huffs with a scoff, voice returning to a series of strangles moans as he feels you swallow on his dick. That way you do to get him to cum sooner just to piss him off knowing he wants to keep fucking and fucking and fucking until the sun met the skyline.

“You’re such a - stop swaallowwingg… augh - bitch. Such a brat,” he seethes through clenched teeth tightening his grip so hard your wrists would inevitably bruise, “for no reason. I keep you dolled up and happy and you want to go to the fucking gym in this hooker outfit? Everybody thinks I don’t fuck you right ‘cause you mouth off everywhere all the time.” His hips still, balls sitting on your nose and thick gray pubes tickling your chin. Wrists stuck, you settle for kicking your feet like a tantrum and gagging and squealing. “Stop mouthing off in front of people or I’ll keep fucking this throat like that. Never gonna let you cum, just use your throat like a second pussy ‘til you can’t mouth off…”

A loud little yelp escapes you as he draws his hips back at you pinching his hand that way you do to signify a wordless safeword to go slower, be more gentle. Heaps of spittle coat your face as he pulls back, mascara running down your forehead as you sniffle pathetically with a quivering bottom lip. You pinch again, signifying you want him to let go of your wrists. He does so, raking his hands flat against your arms up to your shoulders then your neck to cup with one hand. His other hand settles on stroking the skin of your shoulder with soothing grazes. The way you were twitching signified you wanted to keep going though, which kept his dick at attention watching the way you tried to steady your breath and form words.

“Con - con, are you really mad a’ me…” you mumbled in broken, breathy words as you twitched.

“No,” he breathed before swallowing to even his breath as his dick drooled your spit onto the hardwood under him, “I think you just needed a lesson; you like to give lip is all…” His eyes glance up to your pussy from your eyes. “If I didn’t love your lips, that’d mean I don’t love all o’ you…” he breathes the last past, removing his hand from your shoulder to touch his shaft.

“Wan’ me to give you less lip, daddy?” you mewl, palms gripping the sheets in case touching yourself got him riled up again and continue punishing you.

“You’re saying that ‘cause you want something, aren’t you?” he smiles. You smile, cheeky, before sliding your tongue across your lips - hungry.

“Maybe…” you giggle, hips wiggling devilishly to draw attention to what laid between your thighs: your neglected pussy.

“If you promise…” he starts with his hand grazing your skin and sitting still on your pussy, cupping it with no pressure to not stimulate you, “I’ll let you cum.”

“No promises.” His eyes darken.

“Brat.”

The first slap makes you yelp loud, hands flying to press at his abdomen as your vision blurred from the sudden abuse of your cunt mixed with your head hanging off the bed upside down (though he was nice enough to support your neck with one of his big hands).

He fucking slapped your pussy.

“Connor!” you squeaked with a gasp at the contact. You let him fuck your throat for half an hour and the most stimulus he finally gives your pussy is a slap.

“You’re being bratty.”

Slap.

“It was a -“

Slap.

“J-Joke!”

Slap.

“Caahnnoorr!” you whined in a high voice, pressing your palms against his midsection to push him away.

“You wanna cum or not? You want me to bruise this throat so you can’t keep mouthing off?”

Slap.

“N-No!”

Slap.

“Oh, you don’t wanna cum? Fine -“

Slap.

“I wan’ah cum, please! I’ll be good! I’ll be good, please! ‘M sorry for being bad, I luh you pleasee let me cum!”

He pauses, his hand still on his shaft, rubbing the tip on your quivering pouty lips.

“Promise you’ll be good?”

You nod into his hand, pressing kitten kisses to his tip pleadingly.

“Promise… cross my heart, daddy, cross my heart…” you whimper soft like a breath or a breeze.

“Okay…” he croons, using the palm cupping your neck to help push you to sit up, “‘m holding you to it, baby.”

You nod, sniffling as you sit up and turn to sit with your legs hanging off the bed, sock-clad toes grazing the hard wood floor between his own bare feet as you looked up at him. It was a sight, a constant one, of your face coated in spit and pre-cum with mascara and makeup ruined and spread across your face. Hair all messed up from the friction of the sheets and lips so puffy from the abuse. You didn’t like being a good girl. It meant he wouldn’t punish you anymore. Promising to be one at least got him to let you cum.

He draws back and sits on a chair nearby, sinking into the soft brown leather of it. He rests his veiny forearms on the arms of it and leans into the back with legs spread - nude with a dripping dick.

“Make yourself cum then.” Your mouth opens and you huff.

“Me? You made my throat hurt!”

“I can just keep fucking your throat ‘til I cum and make you sleep with your throat hurting from being used and your pussy hurting from not being used.”

“That’s not fair!” you grumble, standing on shaky feet and shuffling to him as he lazily pumped his dick.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he replied with eyes glazed with lust that ate you from top to bottom. You climb on his lap, hovering your hole over his dick he was still pumping. He really did spoil you, even in bed you never chose to ride him but obliged if he asked - yet you always wound up looking like this as you rode him: lost in pleasure.

Your hands gripping his biceps hard with your lip caught by your teeth to suppress any embarrassingly loud moans. Brows knit with eyes clenched shut as you bounced, tits moving with each effort you could muster to milk him of his cum - use him like a dildo like he used your throat. It never works like that though, as you start to agree with every word he says in your thoughtless pleasure trying to chase the high you were building with every movement that sucked his cock in to kiss your g-spot with his thick leaky tip.

“You like it?”

“Mhm,” you nod vigorously, panting.

“Love it?”

“Mhm!”

“Gonna be good for daddy?”

“Mhm!”

“Gonna be good so daddy keeps fucking this pussy right? So good that daddy fucks you stupid even more than he already does?”

“Uh huh!” you squeak, hips bucking and stuttering to try and get as much of him as you could. Sloppily bouncing as your hips shook and drool slipped out of your puffy parted lips.

“Kiss daddy while you cum. Let you cum on my dick for being so good,” his hand catches the back of your neck hard and pulls you close fast. Your lips clash hard as your hips twitch. Your pussy squeezing him with the hot ridges of your sopping walls - cumming.

You pant, hard, into his mouth. The short and fast breaths escaping your nose fanning the hairs of his top lip, babbling incoherently into his mouth as your tongue keeps darting in and out to try so hard to keep kissing him. “Luh you! Luh you! Ah… lovee you, daddy… I luh you, C-Connor, cum in me? You’ll cum in me, please? Please? I’ll be so good if you fill me up, I’ll be good forever an’ ever… fuck!”

You still, lips hard and still against his as you breath hitches and your convulsing cunt makes a lewd squelch. It sounds like something thick spilling, he could tell you creamed on him by the way your hips kept twitching despite being still and sat on his cock to the hilt with his balls pressed to your ass.

“Stopping? I didn’ cum yet, baby,” he pulls back with that knowing grin before gripping your hips hard and using the force to slide you up his cock. Only to buck and fill you with it again, hard.

You draw back, hands moving from his biceps to sit on his check with stiff arms and staring with wide eyes and a mouth open. You look so beautiful like this.

The hair still messy with spit from facefucking you, tears making mascara coat your cheeks (and forehead from hanging off the bed upside down) and face entirely wet from the spit of having your throat fucked and messily kissing. Trying to be as one as you could be.

Looking at this sight has him following after.

“Cumming.” His hips ram up, balls and dick twitching in your hole as you cream agains, leaving the seat of the leather chair sticky with both of your cum as it leaks out of your convulsing hole.

It’s quiet, no sounds of skin hitting skin or squelching. It’s less about the sense of touch or hearing now, but sight.

He watches your eyes come back from your high as you do that nervous lip bite you do with your palms still against his chest.

“Do I really mouth off too much?”

“A little,” Connor admits, hands stroking your sides in an up and down motion.

He watches your eyes glance away to a lamp nearby, looking shy and guilty as you wriggle on his dick.

“I’m sorry…” you hum in a soft voice.

“‘S okay,” he smiles sweetly and pecking your cheek, “just watch the lip in front of others okay? Heard someone say you talk like that ‘cause I don’t fuck you well enough.”

“Are they crazy?” you huff, “I act all irritable because we’re not in bed 24/7. If you fuck me before those stupid meetings or parties or whatever they are, I’ll be more agreeable…” you glance away. Embarrassment flares again, your stomach fluttering.

“Connor, it’s just hard seeing you all handsome giving out attention…” you mutter, leaning to nuzzle into the nape of his neck, “makes me all jealous…”

You can’t see him smile from where you’re hiding in his shoulder, but you feel the smile as presses sweet kisses to your hair and his hands squeeze your sides reassuringly.

“I got a gala next week, Tuesday at 8. I’ll fuck you 3-6, sound good?” You nod into his shoulder, rolling your hips lazily to relish in the contact as his member softened.

You really were more agreeable, hanging off his arm all giddy and smiley the whole gala. Sometimes rewards work better than punishments.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

my first connor fic !!! sry if my characterization isnt the best its all dirty talk anyway tho so like pardon me. theres almost no connor fics in the tag so here u go old man fuckers <33

#nana writes succession #connor roy x reader #connor roy x you #connor roy x y/n #connor roy x you smut #connor roy x reader smut #connor roy x y/n smut #succession fanfic #succession x reader

[bakugotrashpanda]

Two Truths and a Lie

Chapter 2: Life Goes On

Bakugou x Fem!Reader

◈ Pro Hero, Fake Engagement ◈ Word Count: 1433

◇ Chapter Select

◇ Previous Chapter

You’re suffering and it shows.

The following three weeks of your life are an absolute nightmare. The quality of sleep you get goes from fantastic to subpar. Sleeping on the couch to avoid the bedroom and the inevitable breakdown you’d have is the only logical choice to keep going.

And your suffering isn’t contained to your apartment. Your way to work is lined with advertisements and billboards of Midoriya. No matter where you go, you can’t avoid seeing him.

It doesn’t help that you don’t have anything to fill your time with. Staying home binge watching shows and crying into your meals only lasted a day or so. Typing, deleting, and retyping social media posts could only get you so far. And sitting in the darkness letting the soul crushing reality that you are in fact alone is your least favorite of the ways you spent your evenings. As a result, your work performance began to suffer.

It’s just a normal day of typing up your interrogation notes and staring off into space when an email pops up at your computer from your boss marked ‘urgent’. Your blood pressure and anxiety skyrocket.

Rubbing your hands on your pants, you knock on your boss’ door. She looks up from her keyboard and waves you in

“You wanted to see me?” you ask.

“Close the door.”

Never a good way to start a meeting. Sitting in the leather chair across from her, your boss takes off her glasses and rubs her temple.

She pulls out a stack of files. Complaints. “We need to talk about your performance.”

“What, are you going to fire me?” The sarcastic jab leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

Snapping her glasses back into place, she opens the top folder and glances at the report. “No, but you’ll be pulled from active duty if you don’t get your shit together. Showing up late, being abnormally callous during interrogations-”

You can’t hold back a snort. “Oh, so now you don’t like the way I talk to people?” Your job is to grill people – get information needed by any means necessary. “Should I just not speak ever again?”

“Insubordination.” Your boss sighs and takes off her glasses. A flash of irritation makes you want to reach over her desk and snap the glasses in half… Maybe she does have a point. She pinches the bridge of her nose, her brows scrunched together. “I get going through a breakup. I really do. But you need to leave the baggage at the door.”

There’s a pause as her words sink in. They simmer inside you, a low burning heat in your chest that slowly bubbles into anger. She gets going through a breakup?

Does she get being surrounded by nothing and yet everything at the same time? Does she get only being able to use half of what used to be a home? Does she understand that you have absolutely nothing going for you?

So yeah, you’re a little rough around the edges right now. And your fuse is a little short. And you probably should talk to someone about it, but you’re not going to. Not right now.

A breath you didn’t know you’re holding hisses out your nose. Message received; don’t be a dick at work.

“If that’s all,” you stand abruptly and wait for her to nod like she usually does to let you leave.

Except she doesn’t. “I’m recommending taking a week off. A soft reset may be just what you need.”

Icy dread shoots through your veins and extinguishes your anger. “Don’t,” you say softly. Your boss raises an eyebrow. Your knees weaken and you sink back into the chair. “Don’t make me take a week off. All I’m surrounded by in my apartment are memories I want to forget. Don’t make me spend a week by myself in that hellhole.” What the hell would you do with a week of probation?

Hard amber eyes soften slightly. Her head softly tilts side to side as if weighing the pros and cons of keeping you around. Sweat prickles your back the whole time. “One more day,” she decides. “I better not have a single complaint cross my desk, is that clear.”

“Crystal,” you murmur and stand. Your boss nods once and returns to her paperwork, the stack of complaints disappearing somewhere into the abyss of her desk again.

Christ. You didn’t think the break up was affecting you that much. Plastering on a smile, you sarcastically tell yourself to ‘think positive’ and head back onto the floor.

Back at your cubicle you look at your schedule. One more interrogation and then you could in theory clock off early. It should be easy, just another robbery where one of the guys got caught. He’s not spilling where the rest of his team is or where they stored the cash.

That’s where you come in – sweet talking your way into whatever information you want. If you lay your quirk on thick, you could have him wrapped around your little finger spouting off his personal banking details in a matter of minutes. And you’ll do everything by the book.

But, you might as well see what you’re working with before marching straight into the interrogation room. You head to the back room and see a coworker standing in the dark. The two-way mirror shows the criminal with a quirk inhibiting bracelet slapped on his wrist.

“I take it he’s not speaking?” you murmur.

“No.” Your coworker hides a smile by taking a sip of water. “But I know you’ll get the truth from him, Verity.” You watch the man fidget at the table and tug at the cuff – as if that would take it off or stop the terrifying feeling of having your quirk taken away from you. 

Gotcha right where I want you.

“I’ll get you a location,” you say confidently and leave. This’ll be a piece of cake.

“You always do.”

And you did. It took you a minute of talking to loosen the guy up before he responded, but once he did, he was yours. You charmed the information right out of him without over doing your quirk and made sure there would be nothing but glowing reports all around. Probation would be a nonissue for you.

A cold evening breeze kisses your cheeks as you leave the office. Averting your gaze from the giant screen advertising a new underwear brand with your ex as the model, you let your feet take you to your new favorite watering hole on autopilot.

The bar is a little hole in the wall favored by up-and-coming heroes and sidekicks. It’s less about schmoozing and elbow rubbing, and more about unwinding from the day with a cold one with friends. Plus the cook makes some of the best food for cheap. The few tables in the place aren’t filled yet, but give it an hour or so and you would find four or five people all squeezing together to fit at each.

You take your place at the bar – your new ‘usual’ spot and find a beer sliding your way.

“I’m gonna need something stronger than this,” you smile wryly at the bartender and take a sip from the bottle.

“How strong are you talking?” the bartender asks.

“Dealer’s choice,” you hum. Ten seconds later a shot glass filled with clear liquid is plopped in front of you.

“Bottoms up,” you salute before downing the shot. The beer you chase it with tastes like water in comparison. You nearly choke on it though when your eyes glance over at the TV in the corner.

“Too strong for ya?” the bartender asks, but you ignore him. The ticker tape headline sears your brain.

“Pro-Hero Deku and Uravity announce their relationship on social media.” Your drink turns to sludge in your mouth. Pro-Hero Deku fucking what? The alcohol burns in your mouth and the whole way down. Your stomach churns – from the news or the drink, you’re unsure.

Deku and Uravity. Two friends from highschool who decided to take their friendship to the next level. Lovers reunited at long last.

There’s no mention of you or the fact that Midoriya got out of a relationship almost a month ago down to the day in the report. All you can see are candid pictures of the two of them in public, looking all cute and shit. It makes you want to vomit. Or throw your bottle. Or both.

“Well if he’s fucking dating her, then I’m engaged to Dynamight,” you mutter to yourself. “Can I get a few more shots down here?”

Truth: You can’t escape your ex.

Truth: It hurts to know he moved on so quickly.

Lie: You can recall everything that happened at the bar.

◇ Next Chapter

Tag List: @thatfanfictionwriter, @loving-katsuki, @dienamights, @katditca, @boosyboo9206, @alex-sulli, @hypernovaxx, @daddyissxes, @ti-mame, @thekaylahub, @ms0milk, @nerd-nowandforever, @minninugget, @tiny-wooden-robot, @icedemon1314, @xviternity, @naiomiwinchester, @sincerelyyrosemary, @abnormalanimeweeb, @satogg, @liberace2 , @acid-rain27, @itgetzweird08 , @chaoticorganizedmess , @neurovascular-entrapta , @kiwiified , @bnha-free-writing , @fishbolw , @xxkay15xx , @zombiewarprincess , @izuwumidoriya , @blue-enigma , @mommy-without-milkers , @plaggi , @budibbly , @hiqhkey

#bakugou #bakugou x reader #two truths and a lie #writing #mine

[journey-to-the-attic]

3rd anni req 10: luke, raphael / chocolate

ao3 link

note: thirteen's in this one too, since this is set in a sorta-hypothetical second exchange year! i struggled a bit with how to execute this one - so sorry if this wasn't quite what you wanted, anon ^^;

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

“Do you think Luke’s acting weird?”

Thirteen blows a bubble in her milkshake, then ducks back down to tighten another screw. She hums. “Nope. Why?”

I glance over at the white beret peeking out from behind a hedge. It bobs up and down slightly, then abruptly retreats again. “I just… have a feeling.”

She glances up from her work. Of course, the hat isn’t there anymore, and I can’t be bothered to explain it, so I just let her go back to her helmet-contraption.

“Eh. Sometimes angels just do stuff we don’t get,” She says after a moment, swapping the screwdriver for a cloth and giving the shell a quick polish. “Here, put this on.”

I let her fasten the helmet on my head without much thought - which I probably shouldn’t do, but I’ve got other things on my mind. As Thirteen starts adjusting knobs and murmuring half-incantations, I skim over everything that’s happened so far.

It started, I think, as soon as we got to school. Luke had a bag, which was already a little unusual, and as soon as he spotted me, he started fumbling around inside - but Solomon, not paying attention, started ushering us all into the building before he could find whatever it was.

I don’t think I’d thought much of it at the time. I thought Luke’s conversation was oddly stilted during our first lesson, but it wasn’t until he dived under the table for the third time that I finally realised that something was off.

“Ah, that’s beautiful,” Thirteen says with some satisfaction, and carefully pops the helmet back off again. “Better let Mephisto know…”

“Which one?”

“The stupid one.”

By Thirteen’s metric, that doesn’t narrow it down. I pat down my hair. I don’t feel any different, so I have no idea what that gadget was supposed to do.

Back to Luke, though - I tried to ask him if he was feeling alright as we left that first class, but I don’t think he heard me at all. He seemed completely occupied by something, and just as he finally did turn to me as if to speak, Mammon came around the corner, and he quickly ducked behind Simeon instead.

Simeon himself doesn’t even seem to have noticed anything is up. In the lesson after that, Luke spent most of the hour glancing distractedly around the room, then under the table, and he kept dropping his pens. Simeon didn’t even try to bring his focus back to the work - just whispered the answers when the teacher inevitably called on him.

…though it feels a little like the Devildom is working against him here. Every time it looks like he’s about the explain what’s going on, something comes up - Solomon dropping a small statue on his foot and yelping loudly, someone letting off a firework in the classroom, Diavolo stopping to start a very long conversation in the hall - and he responds like a deer caught in headlights.

Thirteen stands up with a huff and suggests we go get some cookies or something. Somehow, Luke is already there.

He doesn’t spot me, but I catch him almost immediately - his all-white apparel makes him stand out from a mile away in a mostly grey-clad student body. Simeon is nowhere to be seen, but Raphael is with him now, and they’re huddled just behind a display cabinet, as if the glass isn’t transparent.

Raphael is saying something - as we pass by, I try to listen in without getting closer, but I can only catch a few snippets.

“...attention… decisive strike… necessary?”

I glance at Luke. His face is a little blurred through the glass, but he doesn’t look as if he’s listening to a word Raphael is saying. He’s staring down at something in his hands, face creased in deep thought.

They look pretty comfortable there, so it’s a surprise when Raphael’s head suddenly emerges from around a corner as Thirteen and I are heading to our respective next classes. I lean forward, attempting to see around him, but it doesn’t look like Luke’s with him anymore.

“IK. I need to speak with you,” He says, very seriously. “Do you have time?”

“Uh… sure, yeah.” I glance up at Thirteen. She shrugs and carries on without me. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

He glances quickly back and forth, then leans over and peers into the nearest classroom. After a moment, he jerks his head, and leads the way inside.

“Listen,” He says seriously. “You’re a nice human.”

“...thanks?”

“I’m not done yet.”

“Oh, sorry.”

He seems to think for a moment. He scans the room one more time, then finally relaxes a little. “It wouldn’t be fair to leave you in the dark, that’s all. I just wanted to warn you.”

“...okay.” I have no idea what he’s trying to say here. “What’s this about?”

“I can’t tell you that - on my honour as an angel.” He presses his lips into a thin line, then sighs and pats me on the shoulder. “...we haven’t known each other for long, but I support you, too. I hope you will be alright.”

I have no idea what you’re on about... I manage an awkward smile. “Right. Well, uh, I’ll remember that. Thanks, Raphael.”

He offers a rare smile, but continues to look mildly troubled. He dithers on the spot for a moment, then nods, and holds the door open for me to leave.

He hurries ahead - and it seems like we’re heading in the same direction, but it’ll be awkward if I catch up with him now. I dawdle behind for a while, then start heading off in earnest. Except that backfires, because the delay seems to have given Raphael a false sense of security. Luke’s with him again, and they seem to be having a confidential conversation.

I stop before I can walk into their field of view, just around the corner. I feel bad for eavesdropping, but I really know what’s going on with Raphael…

“You what?!” Luke sounds incredibly stressed. “What are you talking about?! That’s not— that’s not what’s going on here at all!”

Raphael’s voice is much more measured. “You can be honest with me, Luke. I won’t tell Simeon.”

“No! You’ve got totally the wrong idea!” Now he sounds as if he’s about to cry. Do I need to step in? “Honestly— why would you even think of that?!”

There’s a pause. I imagine a tiny, thoughtful frown on Raphael’s face.

“...I might have misinterpreted my observations,” He admits after a moment. “I just wanted to be supportive.”

Luke sighs loudly. “...even if you were right, you’re supposed to STOP me from doing that stuff.”

“Well, for all I knew, it was justified by Devildom standards. Like a warrior’s code. So I didn’t want to make assumptions.”

“Come on,” groans Luke. “What’s Alecto been telling you?”

“Oh, this isn’t from her. She’s very knowledgeable, though…”

It’s at that point that it sounds like they’re moving again, and I panic, so end up ducking into a different corridor instead. It means having to take the long way around to the classroom, but I do catch Alecto herself - trying to convince Lucifer to climb into the big box she’s holding - on the way there.

When I get in and make to sit down, Luke clears his throat and reaches for his already half-open bag again. At that exact moment, the teacher walks in as well, and he snaps his mouth shut - zipping his bag closed at the same time. And something similar happens again when it looks like he’s about to try once more as we’re leaving the classroom.

It’s at that point that I decide I should probably help him out. I don’t know what he’s trying, but the way things are going, it’s like absolutely everyone doesn’t want it to happen. Which is unfair - it’s like fate is ganging up on him.

I’m not sure when to bring it up, though. Luke’s beginning to look more and more defeated, and it’s almost unbearable to see, but I don’t want to put him on the spot.

And it’s just then that Raphael arrives again - whether to save the day, or further complicate it, I don’t think even he knows. He stops me in the hall, gestures for me to follow him into another empty classroom, then clears his throat.

“I believe I’ve been misinformed,” He murmurs very quickly. “I thought you and Luke were feuding.”

“...huh??” I think back to what he said earlier. “Wait, so— that was really a warning? What did you think he’d do?”

“Ahem. Angels have… quite a lot of unexpected tactics available to us.” He glances awkwardly to the side. “But, anyway, I’m glad. I was going to tell y—”

“RAPHAEL.” The door opens with a clang, and Luke all but topples in, face completely pink. “What're you— actually, you know what, just don’t say anything!”

Raphael lifts his hands and takes a step backwards. Luke takes a deep breath, then makes eye contact with me and goes even pinker.

“Look, um, I…” He fumbles with his bag for what I really hope is the last time. “...I’ve been… trying to…”

I almost expect someone to come barging in at that very moment. But luck is finally on Luke’s side - and he presents me with a pastel blue box.

“Here,” He says a little breathlessly. I blink at it for a full three seconds before realising what's going on.

“Oh!” I accept the box with both hands, a little stunned - I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. “For me?”

“Y-yeah! Well, um— I’ve, um, got to go right now…” He hops on the spot, then offers an anxious smile. “I— I hope you like it! See you!”

And he races out again, before I even have time to thank him.

Already, Raphael is practically burning a hole into the box with his eyes. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t deathly curious by now, too - so I undo the ribbon, then peek under the lid.

It’s… chocolates. Little star-shaped ones, arranged like a constellation and wrapped carefully in tissue. And the colours…

I stare at them for a moment. Then I remember something.

Today’s February 14th.

…ah.

#3rd anni event #obey me raphael #obey me luke #obey me thirteen #jtta ik #writing

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑰𝑻 𝑻𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑺 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑨𝑪𝑰𝑫

pairing: jack daniels x sw!f!reader

genre: smut, angst

word count: 1.8k

summary: he came by every wednesday to ask for your services, he's a broken man, you can tell. however, you didn't expect him to break you in return.

warnings: sex worker reader, client jack, fingering, bondage, piv, jack being jack, cumming on body, set in the kingsman universe

a/n: this idea was a request by anon, which at first I was going to write as a drabble but ofc it ended up being way longer than intended

MLISTS .  LIBRARY. TAGLIST

He comes by every Wednesday. 

He’s a handsome man; An impressive jawline, dark, deep looking eyes, kissable plump lips. By all means, he might be the most handsome client you ever had the pleasure of being with. However, you know pain when you see it. You see that he would rather be with someone else. The first time he came to yo didn't do much. He talked and talked, you’re pretty sure if you had asked later in the evening he would have no recollection about what he said. After he was done talking with his southern drawl, there was only twenty minutes left on the clock. He asked for a blowjob, told you his name while you had your lips wrapped tightly around the head. 

“I’m Jack,” he had said. “Keep your wednesday’s open for me,” 

It’s been two months since he said that. He never misses an appointment, most times he comes on time and some he’s ten, maybe twenty minutes late. He always pays you extra. After each appointment you made a habit of taking a nice long bath after showering. You’re reluctant to clean yourself after Jack leaves, you enjoy smelling him on your skin. But a bath is inevitable. While you soak yourself into the lukewarm water, you think about him. He doesn’t say much about himself. Only bits and pieces. He likes fried chicken and chocolate milkshakes. He skips lunch but enjoys a strong, full breakfast. Nothing personal. 

So you made a game of writing a backstory for him. Especially since he always looks like a wounded animal when he is with you. You imagine a woman that might’ve broken his heart. A cruel and cold woman. Jack never striked you as a meek man, when he’s with you, he’s in full control but for some reason thinking that there’s someone out there, capable of making him feel things, makes you feel a bit better. 

It’s another Wednesday and you’re anxiously looking at your phone. He’s late. Very late, about half an hour. 

Two minutes pass and finally the hotel room echoes with a loud knock. You quickly walk to the door, allowing Jack inside. He doesn’t look at you as he struts inside, laying his hat on the nearest surface and sitting on the bed. Jack sometimes comes to you in a mood, today it seems to be one of those days. His skin is taut across his muscles, the veins meandering across his neck popping and eyes glazed over. Suddenly you think of the woman you made up, had she reached out to him? 

“Come here,” he orders, voice gruff. Impatience lacing into his words. You stand only an inch away, legs brushing against his. Another command follows. “Knees,” 

You do as he says. Jack grips your chin, forcing your gaze up to meet his when they were already glued to them from the start. 

“This is the last time sugar,” he whispers. “I won’t be coming here anymore, just one more night and it’s done.” 

You blink heavily. The world around you shifts into slow motion, blood pumping in your ears and heart squeezing in your chest. Imaginary needles prick at your skin, blood pooling under your fingernails. You don’t understand. You’re not sure you want to. 

But he’s a client. You can’t ask him to stay. 

You ask something else instead. 

“Was my service not to your liking?” 

He seems taken aback by the sudden formality. His lips part, cheeks dusted with a light shade of red. 

“W-What? No, of course not. You’re fantastic, darlin’” he chews on his bottom lip as if there’s an imaginary straw between them. “It’s something else. Something that has nothing to do with you,” 

Of course it has nothing to do with you. You’re the hooker. 

You lower your gaze, not wanting his to bore into yours any more. He gives you the impression that he can see into your heart, to your soul. You’re completely naked when he looks at you like that, both physically and emotionally. Some days you like that he can make you feel that way, that he makes you feel seen. Today is not one of those days. 

You’re almost angry when you unbutton his pants, tugging them down with movements that are soon to be forgotten. 

“What would you like for your last night then?” you ask, voice bitter. “A blowjob?” 

“No actually,” he says, holding your hands. He ignores your pettiness. “I wanted to tie you up, I brought something,” 

You raise an eyebrow and with a smile he reaches for his waist and pulls out a literal bullwhip. In hindsight, you should probably be shocked. But it’s Jack, it wouldn’t be the first time he brought you a toy to play with. Though, you never would’ve thought he wanted to end with bondage. 

“I just really want to focus on you, sugarcube. Want to tease you and make you cum over and over again till you can’t tell your front from back,” 

Thick arousal grows between your legs, you press your lips together, a weak attempt to hide the feeling. You only nod as you strip yourself. A twinge of disappointment bubbles in your chest when he only sheds off his leather jacket. 

“On your knees, your hands behind your back,” 

For a moment you want to joke about him sounding like a cop. The words linger on the tip of your tongue but you swallow it down. The pain of being the last time that you would be seeing him settling into your heart and making you incapable of thinking anything else. 

The leather burns your skin, your arms already tingling, warning you that you’re going to be sore the next day. Excitement cascades across your skin when you feel thick fingers move against your bare back. 

“You look beautiful like this,” 

You don’t gratify him with an answer, he doesn’t seem to care. His hand slides down your ass and cups your mound, he plays with the soft curls, gently tugging on them and keening at the way you whimper. 

“Your bush is soaked darlin’, is this all for me?”

“Yes,” you answer, letting out an exaggerated moan. It was second nature to you to always agree with the customer. Tough, this time it does hold some truth to it. “Only for you,” 

“I know you’re fakin’ it but soon you’ll be creaming all around my cock for real,” 

Oh you have no doubt about that. 

Jack works you open with his fingers, pleasure hitting your burning body like a cold wave. Not even ten minutes pass and your face is buried in the pillows, muffled moans rattling your chest. You can’t see it but you’re positive he’s beaming with pride, a smug smirk etched into his handsome face. The sounds fill the room, your thighs trembling and arms involuntarily straining against the bullwhip as your body attempts to break free. He curls his fingers and you scream his name, your pussy clenches around the digits. You need more. His fingers aren’t enough to scratch the itch of your lingering orgasm. Your body is so intuned with his that you’re positive you won’t be able to cum without him filling you up to the brim. 

“Jack,” you moan, throat sore. “Give me your cock please–” 

Especially if it’s going to be the last time, you want to add but don’t. 

He wordlessly pulls out his finger with a wet pop. Your chest heaves at the emptiness, heart feeling strained as you turn your head to the side in order to properly breathe. You fill your lungs with air, it smells like sweat and slick. 

You hear a zipper, Jack slants himself between your legs, hands gripping your wrists and squeezing. He drags his cock between your wet folds, grinding his hips so that the shaft would press into your aching clit. A gasp violently makes its way out of your lips, skin bursting with goosebumps. 

“Beg sugar,” 

“Please Jack,” you immediately say. “Please let me have your cock– I need it so bad– You feel amazing inside me, and– and–” you swallow, licking your spit soaked lips. “And I make you feel good too, right? You love my pussy, right?” 

You can feel his chest across your back, his mouth touching the rim of your ear. 

“I love you pussy, darlin’” 

You close your eyes. The words go straight into your body, staying there and swirling in your gut. 

“Will you be able to live without it?” you ask, voice sultry and needy. 

“I won’t,” 

When he’s inside of you, it feels like the world might end any second. He pulls you back by the wrists each time he thrusts forward, he goes in deeper, fucks you harder, your muscles ripple with pleasure, your moans loud. He sets a fast pace, soon he pulls you up, you feel his breath ghosting at your nape. Both his hands slide to your front, grabbing your tits and playing with your pebbled nipples. Your senses overwhelm you, nipples aching and tingling as he pinches them. You sloppily roll your hips in hopes to meet his thrusts. 

“Tell me you love me,” he grunts into your wet skin, his one hand trails down and presses hard against your clit. You see stars. “Say it,” 

“I love you,” you blurt out. Your heart rattles within your chest, your mind reminds you that this was a service you provided and men frequently asked for it. “I love you so fucking much Jack– Let me cum, please– I–” 

“Tell me you don’t want me to leave,” he huffs out, hips moving faster. His cock still stretches you every time he thrusts forward. 

“I don’t want you to leave,” you reply on command. 

He starts to draw quick circles around your clit, your body vibrates, slick dripping down his cock. It doesn’t take you long after that. You see stars, cunt squeezing around him and body spasming against his chest. He’s strong and looms over you while you moan for him. Jack fucks you through your orgasm, tearing another one right before pulling out and cumming hot streaks across your back. Some of it gets on your arms, some of it stains his bullwhip. 

Jack breathes heavily while he unties you, he attempts to go and retrieve the kit but you don’t allow him to. Your eyes are closed. Fear replacing the pleasant tingle of your orgasm. 

“Why did you make me say those things?” you choke out. You already know you shouldn’t have asked. 

You still refuse to look at him but feel his fingers rubbing the red marks encircling your wrists. 

“I’m not quite sure myself sugar,” he sighs, fingers leaving the warmth of your skin. “I’m sorry for making you say it. I’ll go now. Thank you for everything darlin’” 

Your lungs collapse when his lips touch your forehead, your eyes still closed. His knuckles gently knock against the bedside table, letting you know he’s leaving the money. The door closes. Only then you open your eyes, the ceiling a dirty white. 

The sensation of his lips lays heavy on your body. You don’t even have the strength to cry, you only feel. 

#jack daniels x reader x frankie morales #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x y/n #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #kingsman fanfiction

[emilija04acer]

Game for your soul (part 3 of Niffty Distribution System)

>I'm trying something new! I'll just put the whole short fic here. Some people like to read it here.

Here is the link for AO3>

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54040492

Alastor learns the reason you shouldn't play games other than cards or chess when trying to get someone's eternal soul. You may get attached...

Or you know lose!

Here are some tags> Alastor & Niffty (Hazbin Hotel)

Characters:

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)

Niffty (Hazbin Hotel)

Additional Tags:

Game

Soul deal

Niffty is a Gremlin

Alastor Tries to Be a Jerk

Niffty Deserves Love

Manipulative Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)

Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel)

Cute Niffty (Hazbin Hotel)

Dialogue Heavy

Fluff and Crack

Fluff

No connect 4 didn't exists in the 50s

It's from the 70s

that's the main reason this is crack

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰ Soul-taking and deal-making were always entertaining for Alastor, the Radio Demon. He loved getting demons' souls by challenging them to something they thought they were good at, only to watch them struggle and inevitably fail. He didn't care what the game was, as long as he had the upper hand. A drinking game, a poker game, a dice game. Luck games were no safer than skill games. He always found a way to win.

Getting overlords' souls was the most enjoyable, their screams filled the dead air of his broadcasts. He relished watching those powerful beings lose their chess matches, their dignity, and their lives. He would sometimes broadcast the game itself, for the amusement of his listeners and the humiliation of his opponents.

But when he met Niffty a week ago in that alley, he didn't know what he was in for. She was a mystery and an enigma. He got to know her somewhat, over the course of a few days. She wasn't the brightest, but she was energetic and engaging. She was amazing at cleaning, cooking, and pest killing. She was incredibly fast and agile.

He had mistaken her for a child when they first met, and he still had to remind himself that she was indeed an adult. He had seen small demons before, of course, he had. But maybe it was her demeanor that seemed childish and somewhat innocent. However, that was far from the truth, and he knew it.

He decided to challenge her to a game for her soul. He weighed his options. He enjoyed her company, she was respectful and insane. Tied in a small energetic package. She would be a great asset to have, a loyal servant to call for small tasks. Even better, she seemed eager to spend time with him. Willing service would be a nice change.

Alastor invited her to join him for dinner at his mansion. This was the second time he had done so. He made jambalaya, her favorite dish. It was the best thing she had ever eaten that a man had made for her. She had asked him to make it again, and he had obliged. He knew it was to her taste.

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

After their dinner, he finally popped the question he had anticipated the whole evening.

"Would you like to play a game, my dear?"

"A game? Sure! I love games!"

"Wait, before you make up your mind. It's a game with high stakes."

"Oh? Wait. You mean for a soul?"

"Indeed. Are you still interested?"

She thought for a single moment. "I accept! But first, what do I get if I win?"

He highly doubted she would win, but he knew a deal was a two-way street. Both parties had to get something. Usually, he made a contract after the game, but he decided to state the terms verbally. Words, when deals were in question, were not cheap. You could spin them, of course, but he didn't feel the need to do that now. She was more than willing to play.

"If you win, you can get anything you want. We'll write the contract after. Are you ready?"

She nodded excitedly.

With a clap of his hands, Alastor conjured a table and two chairs. He hoped she would choose a game of strategy, like chess or checkers, or a game of chance, like cards or dice. He was confident he could beat her in any of those.

He let her pick the game. He wanted to give her a fair chance.

She looked at the table and saw a variety of games. She picked one and held it up.

"Let's play this one," she said, her eyes sparkling.

Alastor looked at the game. It was a plastic board with holes and slots. It came with a bunch of red and yellow discs.

"Connect Four?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I like this game. It's fun."

Alastor shrugged. He had never played it before, but it looked simple enough. He agreed to play.

They sat down and set up the board. Alastor let her go first. She dropped a yellow disc into the middle slot.

He followed with a red disc in the same column. She dropped another yellow disc on top of his. He did the same.

They continued like this, alternating turns and filling up the board. Alastor soon realized that the game was not as easy as it looked. He had to pay attention to the patterns and the possibilities. He had to block her moves and plan his own.

He started to sweat. He felt a pang of anxiety. He was not used to losing. He was not used to being challenged.

He looked at the board. It was almost full. He saw that she had three yellow discs in a row, and only one slot left to complete a four-in-a-row. He had to stop her.

He scanned the board for an opening. He saw one. He dropped a red disc into the slot, blocking her.

He smiled. He had done it. He had saved himself.

He looked at her. She was smiling too.

She dropped a yellow disc into another slot.

She said one word.

"Connect."

He looked at the board. He saw that she had made a diagonal four-in-a-row, using the disc he had just placed.

He had lost.

He felt a surge of shock, anger, and disbelief. He had lost his game.

He screamed internally.

Niffty giggled. She knew she could ask anything from him. He had said it just a minute ago.

She could ask for money or power or whatever her little heart desired.

She could ask for his soul. Not that he could give it to her. His soul didn't belong to him.

"What do you want?" he asked, defeated.

"Give me a paper, sir, please!"

He obliged, summoning a paper and a quill. Writing it down was smart, he admitted. He couldn't twist his words, even if he wanted to.

She held the large feather in her tiny hands and carefully wrote. She was focused, more focused than Alastor had ever seen her.

"I'm done! Here, read it!" She handed the parchment to him with a smile.

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Alastor took the parchment and read it. He expected to see a list of demands, such as money, power, or fame. But what he saw was something else entirely.

It was a contract of friendship.

It said that he had to be her friend, and never get tired of her. He had to invite her to help him with his schemes and let her have fun with him. He had to make jambalaya for her at least once a month and share his stories and jokes with her. He had to protect her from harm and comfort her when she was sad. He had to respect her wishes, and never betray her.

He was baffled by this. He had never seen such a contract before. He had never made such a contract before. He had never agreed to such terms before.

He looked at her. She was smiling, her eyes shining with anticipation.

He felt a strange sensation in his chest. He didn't know what it was, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was warm and fuzzy, like a radio static.

He smiled back. He reached for the quill. He signed his name on the bottom.

(This is supposed to be crackfic but I honestly wouldn't be surprised if this turns out to be somewhat true)

Plot twist Niffty is the one that owns his soul.

Anyways! I hope you enjoyed this!

This was just a short fic I joked about with my friends and actually wrote it.

#alastor and niffty #hazbin hotel #hazbin niffty #hazbin alastor #hazbin fanfic #ao3 fanfic #aroace alastor #platonic fics #alastor soul deal #game night gone wrong #connect 4 #nifty's soul #alastor soul theory #alastor deal #crack fic #niffty distribution system

[beautifulpersonpeach]

What are your thoughts on hyuna seemingly announcing a relationship with someone connected with the burning sun scandal? My understanding is that, though he wasn't convicted of the worst crimes involved in burning sun, he admitted to watching some of the videos sent to him and would comment on them, but I also heard that he still performs around Korea sometimes. This is just bizarre to see from hyuna imo. (Apparently he also used to date goo hara, who was one of hyuna's friends. This isn't as yucky to me as it seems to be to some people, because I think mutual grief can be a uniting thing, and it's not unheard of for relationships to come from it even if it seems disrespectful from an outsider's perspective.)

***

When I first saw her post I had no real thoughts about it - while dating someone even tangentially involved in that nonsense is distasteful, her dating life is her business and I know neither Junhyung nor Hyuna personally - but I knew this news would inevitably lead to the next juicy bit for kpop stans to sensationalize and blow up into a scandal. There’s nothing k-pop stans love more than cancelling an idol or group. It’s a like a group project where everyone can get easy bonus participation marks on.

And sure enough, the minute someone posted her Instagram update on Twitter, it led to hundreds of thousands of tweets, blog posts, discussion topics on all platforms about how Hyuna manipulated her ‘fanbase of feminists’ and lovebombed Dawn into sabotaging his career; cynical declarations about how k-pop idols are most likely bad people (all that fame and fortune corrupts their morality) and it’s only a matter of time before they show their true colours; and Junghyun, for all his faults, has gone from someone who watched a molka video sent to him, to a rape apologist, a rapist, a convicted sex offender, a predator and so on.

It’s fine if people are disappointed she’s dating a creep, the problem is k-pop stans never really leave it at that. In HyunA’s case I’d noticed many of her stans have been upset with her for the last couple of years now, wondering the direction she’s taking post-P Nation and being mostly disappointed in her artistic output recently. And you can see it in the lacklustre response her music has gotten increasingly since then. Any sympathy she had from most of her fans evaporated when she and Dawn broke up. This business with Junhyung seems to me to be the final nail in the coffin, and a pretty good reason for people who were already falling out of love with her to finally write her off.

In reality, people do grow and it’s possible Junhyung learned something from that scandal and now is a better man. It’s possible their shared grief and history with GH bonded them over the years. It’s possible HyunA’s in a terrible place mentally right now and he’s providing healthy or unhealthy support. And it’s possible HyunA is simply a bad person who isn’t a ‘girl’s girl’, and has no qualms dating someone who still has predatory views about women. The beauty of k-pop stan logic is that it’s only the last possibility that’s assumed to be true. Coincidentally that’s also the only possibility that justifies the kind of reactions k-pop stans are prone to dishing out anyway.

A thought experiment I played with a few friends, was what the fallout would be if she announced she was dating Zico instead. Zico apparently didn’t watch any molka videos because there was no evidence he was sent any, but he knew Joonyoung and admitted to knowing about the ‘golden phone’ at the heart of the Burning Sun scandal. I wonder what the takes would be then if she made a dating announcement with Zico… but a part of me kinda already knows.

Anyway, a few of HyunA’s fansites have closed and some people on the k-side are just as upset as those on the I-side. Most other people on the k-side don’t care though. In fact, the understanding is that after Dawn and now Junhyung, it’s likely she dumps him within the year and moves on to someone else before long. Because rather than HyunA’s brand being ‘feminism’ as is wrongly assumed on the I-side, all she’s ever been consistent about is doing what she wants.

And I don’t think that’s going to change. All this backlash and outrage notwithstanding.

#kpop #hyuna #kpop stans #fandom behaviour #burning sun

[okmissgirl]

Absolutely Normal Nonsense

Lil' brainless ficlets about Chrissy and her himbo Edward

Next Nonsense ->

🛼 Skating 🛼

Chrissy’s ass looks like a fucking dream when she’s wearing rollerskates. 

At least, that’s half the reason Eddie bothers to take her and Red to the skatepark on the weekends. Sometimes they convince him to skate with them, but he usually maintains that he's better off watching to make sure they don’t break themselves while rolling around. Max even likes to bring Hopper's kid with her sometimes (more like sneak actually, the girl pops out of fucking thin air) and that just adds to Eddie’s anxiety, frankly. The Chief would fry his ass if he found out his daughter got injured and he didn’t do jack shit to stop it, so there’s clearly a need for Eddie to stay the lookout. Inevitably one of those girls will fall, and Eddie’s in charge of having the first aid kit on hand. 

Chrissy is a lot better at cleaning cuts and putting bandages than he is though. She even gets the cute character prints that Max will grumble about wearing until El points out that the unicorn one on her elbow looks cool. Max will kinda smile, in that way where she wishes she wasn’t, and Eddie will watch her glare down at the band-aid box as she takes a few more home with her. And then she’ll glare at him because she’s probably required to do it or something. 

All of these skating trips they take eventually get out to those idiot sheep of his, and soon Will’s tagging along with his sister, then Lucas and Erica get wind of it from Max. Mike gets pissed that he wasn’t invited and then Dustin tags along to annoy the shit out of Eddie by picking apart the next campaign. Chrissy manages to sneak her little brother Curtis out of the house one day and then bam! Lo’ and behold, these little skate trips are now a bimonthly thing that they coordinate over walkie talkies, and because Eddie can only fit so many children in his child-unfriendly van, Harrington begrudgingly picks up the slack. With Harrington comes the rest of the breakfast club, (a term Eddie resents wholeheartedly) but he’s honestly grateful for the company, if only to keep track of all the gremlins running around. 

One scorching July day, Robin brings one of those big packs of double popsicles to the park with her. Everyone’s just lazing around under some trees or sitting on the benches, licking away when Robin nods at Chrissy. 

“You know, I never said it before but your roller skates are killer, babe.” 

Nancy nods. “Yeah those are absolutely adorable, Chrissy. Where’d you buy them?”

Chrissy lights up and scrambles to stand, rolling around while licking her orange popsicle.

“They’re nice right?! I got them on a discount and they fit perfectly. They’re also really functional too because some of the other skates don’t have good stopping mechanisms so it's a lot easier to… “ 

Robin smiles and nods while Nancy asks more questions. Chrissy continues to skate around happily, doing a couple twirls to demonstrate her agility.  Robin knocks Eddie out of his trance with a nudge of her leg. 

“I bet you love those little skates even more than she does, Munson.” 

Eddie tries to shove the girl off the bench but she’s laughing at him the whole time. 

Because he can’t exactly say no, can he? 

⭐️⭐️⭐️

(going crazy trying to find the fanart with Chrissy and her lil skates. Saw it once and never again 🥲someone help)

#hellcheer #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson

[dancingisdangerouss]

What if Al never Kidnapped or murdered anyone He was just a quirky magician Who manipulates ( y/ n) into having relations with him .

how would he do it ?

Ooh interesting! Hard to say…is he still the same personality, minus the illegal activity? If so, he’s still an obsessive fucker 😂

While he’d stand a much better chance of getting with Reader if he didn’t literally kidnap and rape her (that ain’t something she’s going to just “get over”), I think he’d still face a significant challenge—as we know from her initial interactions with Evan, you need to be blunt as fuck with Y/N.

Her default setting is to assume that people don’t have a romantic interest in her, so she easily misses basic cues due to not wanting to make any assumptions and get hurt when she’s “inevitably turned down.”

So she’s basically spent years reprimanding herself for taking things the wrong way (e.g. assuming a guy liked her based on how touchy and friendly he was, but turned out to be not interested), and has kind of trained her brain to not jump to conclusions, even when they smack her in the face.

So like, if Al had his eye on her, he would probably do some dipshit similar thing with the groceries in order to plant himself in her life somehow. Y/N would of course help him, but in typical Reader fashion, would be like “mmkay you’re welcome peace out” and walk off before he even got a chance to engage her further.

Unfortunately for Al, this would continue for a while, as every time he attempts to talk to her and get into her life, she would be inadvertently dismissive and uninterested. So he’d eventually take it up a notch by like popping a hole in one of her car tires at work, and then just happen to be in the area when she comes out and finds her car broken down.

At that point she can’t take off somewhere and would be forced to talk to him in his car. I can see him trying to slowly manipulate her, “accidentally” brushing his fingers against her hand or arm, pretending she has something in her hair to remove, fixing her jacket when it’s askew. And every damned time she’s just like “oh hey thanks!” and carries on without a clue.

Eventually he would insert himself into her life enough that they’d become friends, and from there I think he would up the ante. Commenting on how good she looks in that dress, or how cute it is when she talks about certain interests. That would get her attention since he’s openly complimenting her, so I can see her getting flustered and angry for letting herself think he’s being flirtatious (even though he is).

The funny part is that I can picture him one day having her over for something at his house, and when something she does ends up giving him a hard-on, he decides to do absolutely nothing to hide it, just fucking sitting on the couch with his legs splayed open. And she just…fucking walks in the room, freezes when she sees his erection, convinces herself that either something else got him worked up or that it’s just the way his trousers are folded, and completely ignores it.

By then, Al just loses his patience like are you fucking kidding me right now? Basically cornering her and saying he doesn’t know how he could be more obvious, and finally just outright telling her he’s interested (which frankly, he should have done in the first place, but his tactics normally work—just not on someone as insecure as Y/N).

And after months of him manipulating her into befriending him, and getting her flustered along the way, she actually does like him; but she’s just kind of mumbling like “oh you don’t want me, I’m kind of a mess, like seriously you could do better,” leading him to be further pissed because “you’re turning me down because you don’t think you’re good enough?” which…actually somehow offends him more that she’s just decided for him what he wants, because who is she to say how he should feel??

Tbh I think he would just pin her to the wall and kiss her right there, and she’d shut up and soon reciprocate. He’d need to be careful, though—she wouldn’t be exactly pleased if he tried to fuck her right then and there, since she’s very skittish in that department, so he would need to further manipulate her into giving into him, continuing with the “innocent” touches until she stops startling and instead relaxes when he does it.

In summary? Al would have to play it very cautiously and get her to trust him and let her walls down before he can get what he wants, so he’d really need to be heavy-handed with the emotional manipulation. One wrong move could fuck it all up…but that’s also part of the thrill of it. Because what good is an easy game?

…..This got really long, oops. I guess I liked the idea 😅

#my bad #Penny just went on a fucking tangent oops #penny for your thots #asks #into the black #anon #black acres #the grabber x reader #witch bitch penny 🎃

[pinkafropuff]

[Lightning in a Bottle] -D'Marre

As the youngest in his family, he was tasked with being with his aging mother longest; as a small speck on their family floor in a grass-thatched house, he had nothing better to do than to watch his mother as she worked with his hands on his knees. 

“Pick up your thread,” she’d said suddenly, and D’Marr sat up straight.

His eyes flickered down to his feet, where his own needle and thread lay. After a few seconds or so, he said, “Why?”

“I am teaching you how to mend,” she said, “and then we will begin on salve-making.”

He made a face. Though he picked up the needle and thread, he held it like it may bite him. “But mama,” he began, “you already know how to mend.”

She glanced up at him with a look not as severe as it could have been; an amusement that bordered on a threat threaded her silvering features, the weathering brown of her skin, and the laugh lines slowly forming around her mouth and eyes. “Meaning?”

He tilted his head downward and to the side, a gesture to mean his intent was obvious. “Can’t you mend it for me?”

A crooked smile curled at one side of her mouth, the red-brown of her eyes twinkling just for a second as she lowered her hands, freeing one from her own cloth. “And I will be around forever?”

He shrugged. “By then I’ll have someone else to do it for me.” One of his brothers had said as much in passing. He was also much older than D’Marr, so mayhaps he would know one or two things that were true.

Her hand shot out and popped him in one of his stalwart ears, enough to startle but not to hurt. When he opened his mouth to protest, she put one finger to her lips. “You should not depend on others to do things for you. Take care of yourself, and then you can take care of others, and in return, they will care for you.”

Sulking, he reached for the thread again, a pout so deep it may have changed his face if he left it for too long. “...okay.” Then, after a moment or two, he said, “But I don’t want to learn salve-making. I’m a boy.”

 He was far too young to be assigned a gender at all; as he always would be, once D’Marr had decided on something he knew as true, it would become as such to him and him only, and not a single person could shake him. 

“And?” She asked. As she did not continue, he stared back at her, wide eyed, before his eyes bounced around the room, hoping for someone else to come up with a proper argument- though with just they two, he was inevitably out of luck. 

“Boys are supposed to be Wood Warders….” He mumbled mostly to himself, but his mother heard all, as was expected. It was she he had inherited his keenest senses from, not his father- a man that he’d only seen on occasion before they’d sent word that he’d fallen to a Garlean assault. 

“Many,” she agreed, “but it is possible that you are not meant to be.”

“But I’m a boy.” He insisted. “Boys can’t do salve-making.”

“Where did you hear that from?” She asked, her eyes careful in the detail of the tear she was mending. 

“Everyone!” He cried. “Even the older boys say so!” He leaned back and crossed his arms, nearly poking himself with the needle. 

“Well, there are boys who are sometimes salve-makers, and girls who are sometimes warders. Did you know that?” It was a casual, off-handed thing to say for its weight, which only made him more frustrated. 

“Where?” He challenged, though almost immediately afterward, he threw his hand over his mouth, realizing his mistake. Her gaze had become less mirthful, more a warning than amused, meaning he had crossed the invisible line. “...sorry.”

A little nod, as though the indiscretion was suddenly forgotten. The perks of being the youngest. “...I used to be a Warder, you know. And there have been a few male salve-makers in memory.”

“Huh?” Somehow this displeased him greatly. The thought of his mother taking on a man’s job made him roil in discomfort, not to mention how dangerous it might have been. While female Viera were formidable on their own, he felt the women in his community more important; all the village leaders were women, the apothecaries, the technicians, the construction workers. Without them, how would the village run? “Wh- Why? Why would you want to do that? Who was protecting you?” 

The amusement re-appeared, though not without a bit of offense. “I was. My brothers and sisters were protecting me, as they are wont to. When you become a Warder,” she began, “you will understand. Now pick up your thread. We are wasting precious time.” 

****

Though humbled by his unceremonious departure from his village, he was not impressed with the outside world, nor would he allow himself to be. He refrained from a kind of action, and inaction, mostly because he was sure of what to do when he was sitting in a chair, arms crossed over his chest to restrain himself from anything uncontrolled, any active element. He wanted to keep that control over himself, over the people around him, over anything he could fathom to force a piece of the Wood to come with him. To keep himself sane. 

And yet-

A tickle tingled at the back of his throat. He could play for them, if they danced, but he wouldn’t. That was reserved for quiet company, for people who knew him well enough to share secrets with. In a bar mostly comprised of Ishgardians who regarded him with disdain, his legs crossed as well. 

Never had he felt more homesick. Never had he felt more alone. 

His fingers twitched a bit against his forearm. Sure, it was cold, but they needn’t all be so sad all the time. For whatever reason it stirred his gut a bit. Maybe made him a bit angry, though he would not show it. 

What the hell are they so sad about? Dragons? I just got chased out of Ul’dah. I just lost my wife-

As he had already taken care of immediate concerns- that is, a nice pair of thermals and earmuffs to be sure he didn’t freeze in a climate so unlike his own- it would be time to deal with some of the other items on the checklist he had, which were all, in their own way, a pain in the ass to do. Count Edmont had been nice enough to set them up in his house, so immediate needs were taken care of, but with the frigid greeting and even more frigid glares, he felt as though he should move on to stage two.

Hate being hated for no good reason.

“Oh, D’Marre! Come here for a second, I’ve something to ask you.” When he looked down, Tataru was waving up at him, jumping just a little bit to be sure she got his attention. 

He gestured once with his head, eyebrows raising. “Yes?” 

“You’re a Bard, aren’t you? I need your area of expertise for something.” Her smile seemed laced with something hidden; when she gestured for him to lean down so she could speak in his ear, her words made those ears stand up straight. “Do you understand?” She finished, nodding encouragingly. “Can you?”

His mouth opened just a bit, and then closed. Something frustrated wrinkled at his brow- though he smoothed it out quickly and put on a little smile, hoping it was as charmingly congenial as possible. “...of course.” She had asked nicely. Besides, he’d wanted to play something, anything on that guitar, given just standing in the Forgotten Knight was starting to make him depressed. 

A slip beneath the cracks. A “friend” asking to play, a “friend” asking the accompanying dance. He could play now, to honor an agreement he was sure he’d kept by coming along to Ishgard with Tataru and Alphinaud, if only to keep them both safe while under fire. Thinking he may hate some part of this- that his “duty” was controlling him this time, causing him to bring out his guitar from the empty space between the aether beneath his skin and the tangible space around them- he began tuning it to be sure it sounded the way Tataru liked. He did notice eyes on him when he flipped the neck to his right hand- most did not play as such, but, given he was left-handed, he sometimes forgot that the rest of the world did not do things the way he did, or play the way he wanted to. 

That was also fine.

He began slowly, with a set of scales, fingers somewhat stiff in the cold- or maybe from the minor disuse for anything other than fighting lately, with an instrument that didn’t take much effort to shoot from. D’Marre hadn’t gone barding in more than a few weeks, given the very notion of song made him think of parties, and parties, made him think of Thancred. As such, his tune dragged a bit without his knowledge, but it was enough to gain Tataru’s attention, which made him crane his neck at her.

“Are you alright? You don’t seem very prepared for a song like this.” Concern knit her soft brow. “I can ask someone else, if it’s hard for you.”

‘Hard for me’. Hmph. Strangely rebellious, he struck a few chords. “I’m fine. Just give me a moment.” She doesn’t know who she’s talking to. I’ve been playing for a hundred years. It was enough to get them started, and Tataru- much to his surprise- started to sing as well as dance. 

It was strangely encouraging. To the beat of her footsteps, her turns and even some of her singing, he strummed a lively tune to hum along with them, a partner for her duet. By the time they’d reached the end, he found himself spirited for more.

The dreary eyes of tavern-goers settled on them more than once; haggard and unwelcoming but slowly simmering into resignation, the usual suspects settled into the vibe of one or two tunes- and when Tataru decided to mingle with guests (as bards do when collecting information) he began playing one on his own, a song he’d heard in passing.

“Siempre que te pregunto

Qué, cuándo, cómo y dónde

Tú siempre me respondes

Quizás, quizás, quizás

Y así pasan los días

Y yo, desesperando

Y tú, tú contestando

Quizás, quizás, quizás”

It made enough sense to him at the time; later he recalled the Echo and all its powers in relation to him, albeit a bit too late to realize why a sudden pool of emptiness blew a hole in his stomach. He stopped part way- though he picked up soon afterward, a quick ‘hiccup’- and pretended he had not. After finishing, he put his guitar to one side, resting the bottom on the top of his boot, the start of its neck resting against his kneecap. 

A sudden shift in the air. Though still a belligerent, steely sadness (and anger) lingered in the air, he noted a strangely settling acceptance. A welcoming. After a few more minutes passed, a young man even asked him to play it again, and though he was wont to refuse, he felt it aching at his throat, the song’s pulse quickening as his own.

“Of course,” he decided instead, though he did not smile. There was something more earnest involved, a quickening step, that made it better to seem serious, seem…solemn. A song about ache. About longing. 

Yeah. He could work with that. Even if it was just one more time. 

****

There was something to be said about music, about songs passed along from father to son, from mother to daughter, from grandparent to grandchild that held specific meaning; a song written by a bard about his or her experience, from a conductor from their unique look on the world, could do well to sway even the deepest of sadnesses, quell even the deepest of longings. In D’Marre’s case, they were a conversation. A talk. An overlong and revealing heart-to-heart when he would not say what he wished, for reasons he did not mean for others to hear. 

Culturally, music was part of life. An ingrained thing meant to tie others together. Though his own fear of losing it rested against his back like the weight of his guitar, he reached back and touched its strings with one hand, a show of comfort. Maybe these people could understand some part of that. Or mayhaps it was that some part of those songs spoke to their own experiences. 

“Where did you hear that song? I’ll admit I’ve never heard it before, even though I’ve listened to some of your playing at the Waking Sands.” Tataru asked as they left for the day (for it would be more than a days’ work, this endeavor she hoped for). “...I mean-” A little pause, her hands rubbing together. “Before, you know.”

He nodded a bit, though he also offered a smile to be sure she understood him. “Somewhere on the road,” he expressed breathlessly, his voice somewhat softer than he’d intended. Mostly, he’d wanted it to sound careless, dreamy. Instead it sounded wistful. Sad. “I only sang it once for an audience before, but…they don’t seem to have minded this time.”

Of course they hadn’t. Even though he’d messed up, he was more than an expert with his instrument- and he wasn’t that bad on the flute either. 

“Well, if you can bring that along with you again tomorrow- I mean, if Count Edmont isn’t keeping you for another errand,” she added, “we’ll be able to navigate our way around the underbelly of this world in no time!” 

He tried not to smile, but failed. Something about her boundless optimism and can-do attitude was more than brightening for the situation at hand. “Have you spoken to Alphinaud? I haven’t seen him as of late, except at night.”

Tataru made a thoughtful expression. With one finger, she tapped her cheek. “..well, I know he said he wanted to have a look around the Brume, but I told him it might be too dangerous right now, given what we do and don’t know.”

D’Marre found himself nodding. If there was anything clear about these Ishgardians, it was that something seethed within all of them- a tightly pulled rope of restraint that only lessened when looking at outsiders. “I know the boy wants to make himself useful, but he should be more careful.”

“Have you developed a soft spot for him?” Asked Tataru suddenly, enough to make him stop and stare at her. When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “Well, I mean…you two seemed like there was some tension between you before, and you would barely talk to him in person, even though you’ve spent a lot of time together. I didn’t think you’d be….? Well, you know!”

D’Marre paused. It was true that he did not approve of a great many things Alphinaud did- ordering him around, for one, and then thinking he could order around a full group of grown men, mercenaries and other sell-swords without enough battle experience to back it up- but he also thought that he should have some grace. He was still a kit, after all. And, without Alisaie here, he was the youngest as well. Sometimes young men can be salve-makers, he reminded himself on that thought, then he replied, “I think he’s more than learned his lesson by now,” and said no more than that.

#the song is Quizas Quizas Quizas #and the version in question I was listening to was Los Panchos' rendition of it #sue me i love that song lmao #fic #ffxiv #d'marre

[faith--in-the-future]

Industry people voted for Harry to win AOTY, 18,000 industry people vote for that award every year. Whether they think he’s manufactured or not is irrelevant because they’re clearly buying what he’s selling so who really cares? I’m sorry but I’m tired of the self soothing “oh but he’s manufactured and people know it” like… let’s not lie to ourselves to feel better. It’s easy to fall in the trap of thinking that karma is actually real and things will rectify themselves eventually, that we just need a little patience because surely this terrible person is falling out of favor, and people are seeing through them, and their imminent fall from grace is inevitable.

In my experience, that’s self soothing BS. Undeserving people have stepped on my back to get job positions I wanted and needed. My friends would go “oh but I bet your boss will see it if you work hard enough” or “eventually the true face of this person will show” and years go by and things don’t “fix themselves”, karma doesn’t strike, justice isn’t made.

The same thing happens in the music industry, probably ten times worse. As someone who’s been observing the industry for a while, Harry has managed to reach an echelon that very few people have reached in history. I’m talking, Justin freaking Timberlake never won AOTY. 49 artists have won that award since the Grammys were created. Of today’s musical landscape, of artists that routinely chart and are popular, the only ones to ever win it are Billie Eilish, Bruno Mars, Adele, Taylor Swift, and Harry Styles. You can add Kacey Musgraves to that list if you feel so inclined (I don’t, she’s not actually mainstream imo). That is an INSANE lineup to be a part of, and the day I found out he’d won it (the day after the Grammys because I refused to stay up just to get pissed off), was when I realized he’d won.

He just won and people are running in circles trying to come up with excuses as to why, actually, he can still lose. This is what he wanted and he got it, to a degree that I don’t even know he himself imagined (and people can spare me the discourse about his team buying Grammys because you can buy nominations but not awards, and definitely not AOTY, there’s a reason so few people have won it). Sure, we all know everything he lost in the process, but I’m willing to bet he doesn’t care and it’s all worth it for him.

There’s no degree of “the industry knows” or “fans will drop him.” The industry embraced him and he has fans in a chokehold, as much as it makes me want to break things. I let myself be fooled by the reception of his award on twitter, and then I came across a post about it on Facebook. People were outraged… that Twitter was mad. I kid you not. He pops up in my for you page on tik tok all the time no matter how many times I pick “not interested”. The amount of videos defending him and outraged about the person shouting during his acceptance speech. The amount of comments saying that Beyoncé was overrated (freaking BEYONCÉ. Overrated!!!????), that he deserved the win (!!!). The comments on YouTube and even in articles defending him. I truly truly gave up at that point. This poor excuse of a man could kick puppies as a hobby and they’d still be lodged up his ass.

bestie trust me when I tell u that I know all this 😭 I understand you probably just wanted to let your frustration out and I'm glad u did but like I 100% agree unfortunately lol I've always been the most pessimistic when it came to that man, and when I said industry people think he's manufactured I mean they probably know but also why should they care lol the entire music industry is a big manufactured mess built up by horrible men so they will support each other no matter what

and I do agree karma doesn't exist lol Good people are always pushed out by oppressive systems bc otherwise those systems wouldn't work anymore (that's why there are no good politicians and no good cops) and if we're talking about universal karma then good people always die and bad people live to their 90s rip

If u ask any of my friends here like @weareonejazzhand she can tell u I've been saying that we'll never get rid of that man now and we'll still be bombarded with his stupid biopic in 2050 and by then he'll have rewritten history completely lol

money always wins

#ask #anon

[royaletiquette]

👫 ruin me!

send for headcanons for our muses! | @nezumivc103221

1. Her parents having learned his name freaks the shit out of her. Why do they know it? Is it because of rumors? Did she let it slip once and they thought it of note? Is it because she's gotten way too comfortable with him so they think he's a bad influence? Do they not trust her to be smart about... anything? Do other guests complain about him? Or her being friendly with him? It sure as hell isn't because they started to care about any independent theaters.

2. Hibiko is almost definitely staying in Edo at this point. She's questioned and come to terms with too much to not. She'll still be figuring that out for now, but when she does, it'll be a gradual change. There won't be anything directly said about it, she'll just progressively get too busy to go out as much. Or maybe even pop in the lounge, but all she plans to do is keep to herself and study.

3. Nezumi's whole thing about experiencing love through art does help her for sure, but it just isn't what she's looking for. Hibiko so much wants it to be the answer to her prayers kinda thing, but she's not Nezumi. She longs for someone to rely on, to wake up to, to know better than herself. In time thankfully, it does stick with her enough for Hibiko to learn more about what she likes and doesn't outside of everyone else's influence.

4. They're on the side of, this isn't going to last/work out no matter what, so fuck it. Which is great for them. Terrifying for Hibiko, but at this point, everything is. She's in a real back and forth, building this idea that she can't fall for him because he's too unavailable sometimes, it's superficial because she only likes what he's shown and doesn't know anything deeper than what might tell anyone. But also, tells herself that it would be okay if she did fall for him because she could experience it, she wouldn't feel lied to or tricked by any means because she always knew the ending. She knows heartbreak by its own means can be beautiful, but most of her hesitancy lies in accepting that inevitability.

#OH MY GOD WHAT OTHER HEADCANONS FOR THEM HAVEN'T I SHARED #nezumivc103221 #v: imperfectly golden }in defiance of everything