#straight creepin

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

virgin!Megumi

A/N: Who has time to fuck when they're too busy kickin ass? Also.. Kinda went overboard on this one. Was trying to keep it pg-13, maybe get to a lil nc-17 but ended with straight porn! 🤣🤣

virgin!Megumi isn't really sure how this happened.. He's not blind to the opposite sex. Knows what women think of him, how they stare when he walks by; easily notices his female teammates eye-fucking him as they spar. So why the fuck hasn't he gotten his dick wet yet? Well.. Unfortunately for them, he's more interested in how you see him. "Lookin good, Gumi. Such a fuckin tease, know that? When you gone let me hit?" You whisper in his ear, giggling and smackin his ass when you walk by during his match. 'What. The. Entire. Fuck.' He thinks, gaze fixed on your cute lil wink and sway of your curvy hips. Your beautiful body is unmatched to him, makes him lose focus as he watches you walk away. Can't really be blamed for the way he stares, cheeks warm from your public teasing. It's not his fault he ends up face down in the ground while Yuji does a spit-take, clutching his sides laughing at how Megumi groans and coughs out a mouth full of dirt. "Dude! Never turn your back on your opponent." "No shit, Itadori!" He's half hard and embarrassed as shit right now thanks to you.

virgin!Megumi knows that your lil show of dominance was actually pretty tame- considering your usual antics. He's 100% sure you know about his little predicament and use it to your advantage any chance you get. "Oh what the fuck!" Megumi's shout pulls you downstairs to see what the hells goin on. He looks so cute: got your flower apron on, kitchen towel on his shoulder as he struggles opening a can with damp fingers. "Awww, my poor baby havin some trouble?" You chuckle at him, taking the jar poppin it open with ease, and set it on the counter. "No, it's cause- well obviously I could've done that myself! My hands.. It's just cause my fingers are wet." He sputters but you don't bother payin attention. You're slinkin up to his fine ass, nosing into his pale throat, peckin slow sweet kisses. "Mmm, Gumi. Taste so good. Wonder where else you taste good.." Oh, how he's so willing to let you find out. Your body presses into his side, perky brown titties pushing against his arm, adoring how he immediately comes undone for you. His head tilts as he whines your name, hips jerking as you lick at his skin. "So needy already. Poor thing. Only takes a kiss to your pretty throat.. Now you're ready to buss a big nut for me, huh baby?" He's nodding before you can get the question out. What a goddamn sight.. Megumi holding tight at your waist, dick tenting deliciously as he humps into the air. Fuck, he'd kill every curse on earth just to feel your dainty fingers wrap around him. Why does it always feel so dam amazing when you've barely touched him? "Know what would feel soooo good, princess? If you cum for me, right here- right now." More pretty moans before he gives you an unintelligible "N-not a princess." You smirk, hand creepin up to yank his head back by a fist full of his dark hair and grace him with one last harsh nip. He sounds so pretty when he gives you a loud whiny "Fuck!" Your too fuckin estatic to witness Megumi's eager sounds, pretty face pinched up as shivers run throughout his perfect athletic body. All of his reactions only for you.. So you palm down his thick clothed cock once as a reward. His whimpers are so fuckin pathetic, that paired with the cum stain quickly spreading across the fat bulge in his pants. "Seriously, Megumi?" you laugh heartily, slapping his toned ass once and heading back upstairs. Your boyfriend gazes at your exit with glazed eyes before thumping his head back into the cupboard to stare at the ceiling. "Fuckin woman's gonna be the death of me." He mutters under his breath as shame creeps in once again.

virgin!Megumi loves when you give him lessons on how to please you. As much as he's dying to cram his dick into you, he thinks learning how to make you feel good is so much more important. So Megumi sits on his knees, naked from the waist down on the floor by the foot of the bed; cock harder than it's ever been as he gives himself quick sloppy strokes. He's absolutely engrossed with your fingers playing between your thick cocoa thighs. Bright white teeth clench together at the sight, trapping his dark blue t-shirt in-between. "Y/n, come closer. Please! Wanna see you up close." Words muffled but hopin you understand. You're so preoccupied with the pleasure, eyes closed as you scoot to the edge of the bed to give him a better view of your nude body. You pick up the pace of the 2 fingers slippin in and out of your tight gushy hole. The sounds of your lil puss fill the room, adding to the slaps of his handjob and both of your heavy pants. "Fuuuuck, love when you watch me play with my pussy. Mmm, yeeesss- so good! You like it t-too, right Gumi?" The breathless way you say his name has him agreeing before he can process what your asking. It's the fuckin truth anyway. "So damn perfect, y/n. I swear it. Never seen anyone more beautiful." He vows, leaning in close as you bring your other hand down to rub your clit in quick messy circles. "Ahhh! My Go- getting so close baby. Turnin me on so much. Kiss me! Kiss me Gumi, pleeeeease." Megumi's never heard you sound so submissive, so utterly feminine as you get closer to your high. "Okay, honey, okay.." He springs to his feet, snatchin his shirt over his head before caging your sweaty brown body with his. Feels fucking incredible when his body pins yours to the bed, hard dick pokin at your slit. Removing your hands to clutch at his back as the feeling of his dry humpin amps you up. "Fuck, Gumiiii! Dont wanna rush you, jus- ohmyGod! Cant wait anymore, baby. Just the tip, yeah? Please Gumi, just lemme have the tip!" Those rosy lips melt into yours passionately at your earlier request as well as to silence your filthy mouth before you make him nut, but you can barely keep up. Orgasm hittin so viciously, you're doing more moaning than kissing into Megumi's mouth. And boy does he fucking loves it, inhaling each one as he continues to press his mouth over yours. His body slides repeatedly against your own, itchin to give you his cock. The rough pressure on your clit keeps you mindless as your please alternate between "Please, Gumi, please.." and "dick, just the tip.." 'Fuck it.' He thinks, cock slippin clumsily against your hole before he angles just right and forces the head of his dick between your walls. You're insides suffocate him, hug him lovingly as he immediately gives you 3 jerky thrusts that have you wailing. "Thank you baby. Ah, ah, ah! Th-thank you, so fuckin much!" The way you sound, the wet warmth on his cock.. It's all just so damn nerve-wracking, so mind-blowing and he cant take it anymore. A thunderous groan permeates the room before Megumi goes silent, stiff as a board ontop you when he pulls out to pour his nut out all over your pussy lips. Rubbing your hands down your boyfriend's flushed back soothingly as you feel his hot cum cover your cunt, raining drips down your ass crack. Fuck, what a mess. "Good boy, Megumi. Such a good boy for me." You tell him as he gasps into the side of you neck.

#black reader #black fanfiction #all readers #smut #dirty talk #dom reader #teasing #virgin humiliation #jjk smut #jjk #megumi fushiguro #megumi x black reader #megumi x reader #megumi x y/n #megumi x you #black girl reader #black writer #just the tip

[mykneeshurt]

hii!! I must say, I love your writing!

Totally in love with haunted (read in ao3). I see you taking requests, so I wondering if you could write a scenario when ghost is married with a woman who's part of the cod:ghosts(2013) team, a total badass, and she and her team coming to visit/help 141 and their reaction when then see Simon always near her and being a little touchy.

Thank u!!!!

Thank you so much for reading Haunted, I’m so glad you’re loving it. New chapter soon. I hope you like this wee drabble! I enjoyed writing it hehe. Your name is Smith in this (your maiden name).

The meeting room had a certain buzz about it, Task Force 141 had been called by Laswell to meet their new team. Ghosts. They’d be working together on their next mission, The Ghosts were well known and well feared. Price sat with his men in anticipation of your arrival.

Eventually Laswell entered and the room fell silent, ‘gentleman, I’d like to introduce you to the Ghosts.’ You each filed in, wearing all black tactical gear, black balaclavas hung from your belts which carried the familiar Ghost sigil.

Working her way down the line Laswell introduced each team member and their specialist field. ‘This is Sargent David Walker, or Hesh. Canine unit and specialist weapons operator.’ Hesh stepped forward and nodded before stepping back. ‘His younger brother Sargent Logan Walker, specialist weapons operator.’ Again stepping forward and nodding in their general direction. ‘Captain Thomas Merrick, explosives and Sargent Keegan Russ, Sniper and close combat expert.’ Both men offered grunts before returning to their position.

141 took in their intimidating counterparts, sizing them up as one does. Ghost however shifted in his chair, seeming inpatient. Soap clocked it straight away, he’d make a mental note to ask him later. ‘And finally’ Laswell continued ‘we have Commanding Officer Smith, close combat expert, Apache pilot and Sniper.’ You were dwarfed by your men as you stepped out from beside Keegan, your average 5’5 muscular frame seemingly lost before them. ‘Pleasures all mine gentleman’ your velvet like voice swept across the room.

Your eyes landed on Ghost almost instantly, fighting yourself to hide a smirk. ‘I look forward to working together on Operation Tasmyn. Anything we can help with we will.’

Soaps eyes widened, a wee think like you in charge of those burly men. He elbowed Ghost ‘creepin Jesus, wouldn’t wanna get on the wrong side of her’ he grinned. Ghost rolled his eyes ‘shut up Soap, fuckin ell.’ Ghost rearranged himself in his seat, again. He was never normally this fidgety.

‘Go and get to know one another in the mess hall, Price? Smith? My office in one hour to discuss the plan.’ Laswell took her leave but not before pulling you into a tight hug. As everyone filed out Soap noticed Ghost linger behind, watching to make sure everyone had left. You were messing with some equipment not noticing Ghost behind you. Soap decided to loiter outside the door he needed to know what had gotten his Lieutenants back up.

As he peered through the crack in the door he saw Ghost run his hand down your arm and squeeze your hand. Soap furrowed his brows, you know each other? You turned around and greeted Ghost with a beaming smile. He let go of your hand and the two of you began talking, he couldn’t quite hear the muffled words but he noticed how Ghost would shift closer to you with every breath. He scurried away before he had the chance to get caught.

—

The next day at lunch you were recovering from an intense exercise session with the boys. As you walked past a table full of Privates one decided to make a comment towards you. ‘How many you reckon she fucked to get to where she is?’ Ghost went to get up from his seat and pretty much kill him. But you were able to shoot him a look which halted him immediately. Gaz clocked it this time, he nudged Soap. ‘What was that look she just shot him? Do they know each other?’ Soap, never one to pass up some gossip kept his voice low ‘I dunno, but I reckon they do. Saw em talking after our meeting yesterday, looked real cosy.’

They watched you like a Hawk as you slowly made your way over to the Private. The mess hall was silent. You gripped his jaw forcing him to look at you ‘well, seems we’ve forgotten our place, haven’t we Private Anderson.’ You gripped hard and bent in low towards him ‘I didn’t fuck anyone to get to where I was, but I did slaughter people in their sleep. Best keep one eye open eh?’ Smirking you let his face go and tapped his cheek, he instantly backed down, face a deep shade of pink.

Soap and Gaz exchanged a look, were they intimidated? Turned on? Fuck knows. As you passed by you glanced over at Ghost as if to say ‘good boy.’ His demeanour changed, he relaxed slightly and uncurled his fists, before he got up and followed you. ‘Aw they deffo know each other’ Soap whispered ‘we just gotta find out how.’

—

After lunch you moved onto a team building exercise, Laswell deemed it necessary as you were going to be working closely on the next mission. So far everyone was getting along well, Soap and Logan becoming fast friends. Naturally Soap and Gaz pushed for a night out, you and Price agreed, feeling it would be beneficial to let your guards down.

At the local pub, dressed in civvies, you all sat in a booth and began swapping stories. You excused yourself to go to the bar and after a few minutes Ghost joined you. ‘There he goes again!’ Soap excitedly pointed out, ‘they’re fuckin, gotta be.’ Gaz sipped his pint eyes transfixed on you and Ghost. ‘Really? How the fuck could he land a woman like that?’

‘You’re not very good at playing it cool Simon’ you giggled, ‘I know Soap, and Gaz is it? Are definitely on to us.’ It took all of his willpower not to touch the small of your back or kiss your cheek. ‘Fuck, I know love. Can’t help it. Coulda murdered that prick today.’ You thanked the bartender for your drink as you nursed the cold pint. ‘I’m a big girl, I can handle myself. Besides, my lot would have been on him like rabid dogs if I wanted them to. Relax my love.’ He loved it when you called him that.

You walked back over to the booth, Ghosts eyes watching you as you swayed your hips. ‘Oh my god. Yep. They’re fukin’ Gaz snickered. They were like two naughty school boys gossiping in class.

Ghost sat back down, next to Soap but opposite you. Your team knew Ghost was your husband, you’d been together a long time, childhood sweethearts. Ghost was always a private man so he saw no reason that they needed to know he was married. Besides, more leverage if was captured, so he kept it to himself. Price figured it out as soon as you stepped forward on your first day. When you’d gone for your meeting with Laswell and him he blurted it out. ‘How’d you guess?’ You asked him laughing. Price rubbed his beard ‘I know the look of a subordinate husband anywhere. I am one. My wife runs the show’ he laughed.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, it had been months since you’d been in the same room as each other. You smiled at him over the rim of your pint glass, your eyes lighting up every time. Talk soon moved onto battle scars, in other words who has the biggest dick. Everyone took it in turns, Soap showed an impressive one on his bicep from a shot gun wound. Logan, on his chest from where he was stabbed and Keegan one on his thigh from where he had been impaled falling from a building. Finally it was your turn, you stood and lifted your top a mangled scar ran from your breast to your hip. ‘Fuckin hell does it keep going?’ Soap asked. Throwing Ghost a shit eating grin you nodded, you started to undo your jeans and pull the fabric to below your hip bone.

Not being able to take anymore Ghost stood knocking the table, the boys scrambled to steady their drinks. He scooped you up and over his shoulder earning a belly laugh from you. ‘I fuckin knew it!’ Soap shouted gleefully. Ghost whipped his head around shooting him a look before carrying you out of the pub, to do god knows what to you. Soap sat back in the booth feeling smug, ‘I knew they were fuckin!’ The Ghosts all laughed to themselves ‘they ain’t fuckin, they’re married!’ Soap and Gaz looked at each other in utter shock. They had no idea. ‘Smith is her maiden name’ Logan explained ‘she kept it so no one would know. You’re looking at Mrs Simon Riley.’

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod mw22 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #fluff #john soap mactavish #gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #soap mctavish #cod ghosts #call of duty keegan #keegan russ #logan walker #hesh walker #drabble #request

[sinisterexaggerator]

Maybe one where reader - due to some recent unsuccessful business or other hardships - lost considerable amount of self confidence, hiding in her own bubble, and space cowboy tries to drag her out of the stagnating in his own bastard way? Reader could be friend or romantic interest, it'd be up to you. What do you say?

An Unlikely Muse

Cad Bane x Gen! Reader

Summary: You are an artist whose mind’s been blocked until Cad Bane comes to call.

Warnings: Nudity, implied smut, kissing, lust filled thoughts, and fluff/comfort (in Bane’s own way).

Word count: 3.5k+

Notes: @deepbluespace4 , sorry this took so long to get to. I was inspired to write this based on your ask. ;) I had you and others in mind when writing it, a sort of shoutout to Bane artists, I guess.

“What are ye down in de mouth about?” the Duros asked, his lean build held up by the doorframe of your paltry studio.

The tools of your trade were littered about the room, everything having its place in the wake of organized chaos. You sat with your back against him, toiling over a blank canvas, your mind obstructed from accessing the breadth of your normally overactive imagination. You found your creativity to be lacking, and your mood had taken a turn for the worse.

This was becoming a repeat scenario, you with your brushes and paints laid out before you, yet nothing to show for it. You jumped, startled by your lover’s voice, not bothering to wonder how it was he had found his way inside your home.

“Stop creeping up on me like that,” you warned, though you lacked conviction. The bounty hunter smirked, one corner of his mouth twitching upward as he stepped further inside the room.

“Ain’t creepin’. Was in de neighborhood.”

Cad Bane was not a man to be told what to do, yet he tolerated you for some strange reason. Oddly enough, he had commissioned you for a portrait that now hung in Maz’s castle on Takodana, or so you had heard, as you had never stepped foot on the remote planet to see for yourself.

The gungslinger had received your name based on someone’s recommendation, yet he had not bothered to elaborate. You were left guessing who had dispatched Cad Bane to your doorstep.

Regardless, the Duros had provided you with a distinguished holo of a Weequay pirate, mentioning something about his hatching day, and he had been quite satisfied with the result.  Afterward, you bargained with him. Instead of credits, you solicited him for something a bit irregular, having caught him perusing your body with those stark red eyes.

What was the worst that could happen? You were sure he held an attraction for you.

At first he made it clear that he thought you were “pulling his leg,” as the saying goes, yet you were dead set on bedding the Duros if he allowed – not only was he excruciatingly attractive, but his reputation proceeded him. You wanted bragging rights, as childish as that may have seemed at the time, and it was evident the thought had already crossed his mind.

Honestly, you were shocked by your own gall, blaming it on those hypnotizing, gleaming jewels that permeated you down to your core with every glance.

“Let me get dhis straight—” he had begun, “—ye wanna fuck me in exchange fer paintin’ dhat dhere portrait.”

“Yes,” you had answered plainly, remembering the merc had cocked his brow at you.

“Fine, saves me money in de long run,” had been his only reply, though it was enough to leave you satisfied.

It was an evening you would not soon forget, etched into your memory as if your mind was composed of black-bark wood, and Bane was the chisel used to shape and mold you to his liking.

Apparently, the bounty hunter was particular with whom he spent his time with. At some point, he had decided he rather favored you (for reasons unknown), and to your surprise he often came to call. You had grown fond of his intermittent visits, and never dared turn him away, even when you were feeling disheartened and depressed; you were currently a victim of the dreaded Artist’s block.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a bit out of sorts,” you admitted, turning on your stool to face him. He was a sight to behold, not once growing tired of admiring his slender physique.

“Cahn tell dhat by lookin’,” he commented offhand, Bane not one to sugarcoat things, even at the detriment of your feelings. He strode forward, the sound of his aged leather boots echoing across the floor with every footfall.

You watched, enthralled, eyes traveling upward in increments. Your gaze started at his feet only to end up at his face after you had taken in every nuance of his gruff demeanor; the Duros was capable of instantaneously stealing your breath away without so much as lifting one of his blue fingers.

You had it bad; you pondered on how obvious it might be.

“Agreeing with me isn’t helping matters,” you managed, having long since stopped being intimidated by him. Though he was a lethal weapon in his own right, your name was not among those on his shitlist; you thanked your lucky stars.

“What seems te be de problem,” he questioned, one tightly gloved hand casually placing itself on the outside of his jutting hip. The hunter’s weight shifted to his right side as he peered at you indifferently; you wondered if he truly cared, or if he was attempting to be cordial.

You were silent for a moment, studying his pose, soaking up the grandeur of this formidable being that was no doubt pretending to be concerned. Still, even if it was all for show, it warmed your heart and prompted you to confide in him; your plight was not life or death, but it felt that way to you.

“I’m not inspired to create anything, and have not been for quite some time,” you confessed, twirling your dry flat brush between two fingers. The quizzical look he gave you compelled you to set it down, feeling silently judged by his never-ending scrutiny.

“Dhat all?” he asked with nonchalance. Perhaps you were the one judging him, never knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt what was going on inside that oversized noggin of his; you could only guess.

Bane circled around you, strolling unhurriedly toward a viewport that would give him a decent vantage of the world outside, this one full of airspeeders and street merchants. You swiveled in your chair to watch him, the Duros adjusting his hat between two knobby digits, relocating it to a more favorable position. Then, he drew your curtain shut, finally turning, and now sporting an expression of a more serious variety. “Reckon Ah could help ye out."

Suddenly, the gloves came off, one at a time; Bane’s motions were slow and methodical, his movements comprised of simplistic actions that demanded you swallow down an inordinate amount of spit. He tossed the pair of them arbitrarily onto your cluttered desk, followed by his wide-brimmed bolero.

“You-you can?” you asked, heart aflutter behind a wall of flesh and bone; it was the only thing preventing its escape.

“’Member dhat time ye said ye wanted me te model fer ye?” His inquiry stopped there, knowing you would not need anything more in the way of an explanation, Bane’s now bare, indigo-colored hands rising to dislocate his breathing tubes. The sound of pressure being released behind a locked tight valve lasted but for a moment, the Duros shucking off the cap that covered the full expanse of his bald head; you were left gawking at his sharp and angular features, fighting to keep your excitement at bay.

“I do,” you whispered, setting your hands in your lap. They itched to not only reach out and touch the man, but to take up your instruments. He had barely started to undress and already you were dying to record every minutia of his form in excessive detail.

“Maybe now’s de time,” he proffered, his tone lackadaisical, as if this weren’t the single most exhilarating thing to have happened to you in all your days. Then, the coat was gone, thrown over an armchair you had picked up secondhand from an estate sale, observing dutifully as he began to unfasten the no-fight holsters buckled about his waist.

It felt as if your veins were conduits for electricity instead of blood. You sucked in a breath and held it, trying to force yourself into a latent state of calm before responding; you did not want to make him second guess himself by being too overtly enthusiastic. “I would love to, Cad.”

“Good,” he responded flatly, carefully arranging his LL-30s atop his discarded duster, depthless, bloodred eyes locking you in place. He moved to thumb the top of his dense leather tunic; you heard the telltale sound of a zipper crawling slowly down the length of its tread, revealing to you not a bare chest but more armor underneath.

You finally exhaled, realizing you were practically being offered a striptease by none other than one of the most deadly bounty hunters in all the galaxy. You could no longer contain yourself, fumbling to take up a pencil, then scurrying to locate your drawing pad as Bane further disrobed.

Once peeling himself from skintight Nashtah-hide, the Duros kicked his boots off, one heel at a time, letting the top half of his ensemble join the coat and blasters off to the side. Left dressed in only dusky denim, worn leather chaps, and a body glove, you spent this time sharpening graphite against a knife’s edge, catching a glance of the decidedly erotic display only here and there as you tried your best not to cut yourself.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, failing at your endeavor, a bead of crimson forming along a small cut against your thumb. Still, you would not let that stop you; you wiped it off on your already paint-stained jeans.

Bane had just finished husking off his trousers when he sauntered forward; you met his unnerving stare. He took up your hand, then suckled the tip of your thumb like a babe nursing, feeding off another trickle of bright red blood that had wetted your skin, never breaking eye contact.

You felt like you might faint, mouth parting to watch in awe as he drank from you as if he were a vampire; his elongated canines were slightly daunting up close, waiting for the moment when he might bite down.

That moment never came; he released you before your imagination could truly take hold and devour you, much like you wanted him to do.

“Careful, darhlin’, ye need dhat,” he lightly scolded, his own thumb grazing the slit of his thermoguard suit, prying apart the flaps before he tore it into two halves; its fasteners behaved like magnets. Not surprisingly, you found yourself caught somewhere between wanting to act professional and desiring to be the victim of a merciless rutting against your disheveled desk.

Finally, scarred and bruised flesh was revealed to you, dappled in varying hues of blue and green; his job was a dangerous one, Bane subjected to its many risks. Without thinking, you bit your lip, drawing up your pad of rare and expensive flimsiplast to set it in your lap; it was a type specifically manufactured for those who specialized in the visual arts such as yourself, and you could not think of a better time to use it.

“Wait a tick,” the gunslinger exacted, whisking off the remainder of his bodysuit. He stepped out of its legs and kicked it across the floor. Then, he returned his outsized accessory to his head with a haphazard plop, rifling through his own belongings in order to find his smokes.

“Got a light?” he asked.

For several moments you did not move, too enwrapped in the lithe figure of the Duros before you, his sinewy body occupying hardly any space at all. Despite his build, you knew he was powerful, cunning, and adept. And now, he was naked, except for his ostentatious hat.

“Ye-yes,” you stuttered, shuffling paper and its much more resilient cousin, flimsi, all over your workspace in order to find your book of matches. Once acquired, you quickly sparked one against the striking board, holding the flame outstretched as you left your drawing supplies resting atop your legs.

“Much obliged,” Bane volunteered in thanks, bending low to place his cigarra against the tiny fire that had sprung to life. You found yourself unapologetically staring, nearly burning your already injured thumb. You squeaked as you blew it out, the Duros again rising to his full stature. He inhaled a deep drag of hand rolled herbs, relaxing on the exhale, only to tsk and shake his head.

“Suppose yer slow aht learnin’ things,” he dared.

Instead of taking his insult to heart, you found yourself studying the curves of his small rump; they alternated back and forth as he walked away from you, Bane catching you in the act of ogling by the time he had spun around to reface the room.

“Ah’d ask if ye seen somethin’ ye liked, but figur’ Ah already know de answer,” he savagely teased; you watched as his lungs expanded behind his ribs, the bare-assed gunslinger taking another puff off the end of his smoke.

“C'mon—” he urged, finding the most comfortable seat in the house, a highbacked chaise lounge which he now reclined in, the point of one elbow supporting the weight of his head as the hand holding the cigarra wafted dismissively toward nothing in particular, “—draw me like one'na dhose dancin’ Twi’leks.”

With your mouth now fully agape, it took some effort to close. If his genitals were not hidden away, sheathed inside him until such a time they had been coaxed to rouse, you would most assuredly be staring at those, too.

Shamelessly. Predictably.

“Not with you lying down like that,” you said, somehow regaining your power of speech.

In spite of everything, the Duros laughed; it was dry and insipid. He sat up, reconfigured his gangly limbs, then sprawled out on his back. While one leg remained level, the knee of the other protruded upward. He placed one arm behind his neck to sustain this position, still fully aware of his joint in the other as he tilted his head, those hellfire eyes fixating on your ceiling.

“Take it or leave it,” he said.

You took that as your cue.

Not wanting to waste one second, you snatched up your sloppily sharpened pencil. You took a deep breath before you pressed the graphite to the page, clearing your mind of anything and everything that was not Cad Bane.

You started with a basic outline, light lines unfurling across once empty space as your hand moved at a rapacious pace; your art was something that was second nature to you if your mind decided to cooperate. Elementary shapes formed the Duros’ extremities, granting yourself this time to warm-up with a sketch to get back into the swing of things, back bent and eyes shifting to and fro from paper to model who was so eerily quiet now, allowing you to concentrate.

Bane continued to laggardly toke his herbs, a plume of white smoke billowing out of his thin-lipped mouth to fill the area just above his head. He began to tap his foot along the plush cushion of your couch, as if listening to some song only he could hear. Drinking him in - every plane and hollow -  filled you with joy, more so as his likeness divulged itself to your eyes alone by aid of your polished skills.

You roughly filled in the fine intricacies of his face, those you had stored in your memory, as his hat was lower than you wished for it to be, hiding dry, cracked scales and the exact placement of numerous scars; he was none less beautiful in your opinion, and you felt that these little imperfections made him appear all the more rugged and handsome.

The pencil you had chosen was versatile, permitting you to shade the tiny appendages now come to life, so close to the real thing sitting there and breathing as if he had not a care in the universe.

The Duros began to hum; it threw you off guard, so soft and melodic was his voice. Normally acerbic in tone, it was remarkably pleasant; you lowered your implements and set them down, now only bothering to listen.

A few precious moments went by before the man noticed you had stopped your scribbling, Bane turning his head in your direction. When he saw you only gawping at him, the flat space between his eyes stitched. He reached an arm out and put out his cigarra on the end of your caf table; it was transparisteel and would not leave a mark, but ash.

“Finished already, are ye?” he asked, sitting up. You scrabbled to regather your supplies, stuttering as you nearly dropped your pad.

“N-no, I- I was just-”

“Well, let’s see it, dhen.” The man stood, towering, naked, and mildly irritated.

“I was just listening to your-” There was a swagger to his step as he approached, so perfect a specimen to draw as you had ever seen. “-humming,” you surrendered, gazing up at him with a pout written across your visage as plain as the lines now scrawled into the paper he held, having retrieved it from your lap; you waited with bated breath, anticipating some kind of rebuke or snide remark.

Instead, he examined it, no words or sounds passing his tongue to grace your ears. There was only a long stretch of silence, too long, perhaps. You decided to ask him a question if he would be so kind as to answer you.

“What was that song, Cad?”

Without missing a beat, he humored you; his reply wound up being more personal than you had thought, only imagining it to be something he had heard in passing, or a little melody he fancied.

“Don’t remember-” he started off, gaze never wavering from the subject of his interest –- himself. “Life-giver used te sing it te me back when Ah was a grub.”

The idea that Cad Bane had ever been a baby, much less a child, suddenly dawned on you, and what a strange revelation it was. You instantly had the urge to research what a Duros “grub” looked like, but held off to compliment him.

“You have a lovely voice,” you told him, meant to be more than empty flattery. The bounty hunter shifted his gaze, those alluring red eyes once more capturing you in their snare.

He said nothing, pondering your praise, as if deciding whether or not you were being serious or if you had taken to mocking him. Regardless, he returned the drawing to you, boring holes into your head with his unrelenting stare.

“Looks good-” he started, causing a wave of relief to wash over you unexpectedly; you had no idea his approval would mean so much to you, “-fergot te mention Ah charge a thousand creds’ an hour.”

You almost choked on your own saliva, eyes wide as saucers as you could not read him, wondering if this was some kind of cruel joke.

“But, Cad, I don’t have that kind of money!” you vocalized in mild panic. Bane snickered, already having an answer prepared.

“It’s ‘cause instead of takin’ payment, ye ask fer sex,” he stated matter-of-factly, though in your defense you had only done that once.

“No, I don’t! Your case was special,” you whined, wondering what kind of person he must think you to be.

“How special?” he queried, leaning forward to shadow you with his imposing figure and the brim of his large hat.

“I don’t lie with anyone but you,” you meekly explained.

The reptilian creature canted his head. “Lie as in lie-” he made a motion with one hand, flattening his palm to spread out across the open air, pantomiming the surface of a bed, “-or lie as in lie,” he asked, voice deepening to express annoyance.

“Lie as in lie! I haven’t slept with anyone since you’ve been gone,” you conceded, finding yourself to only have eyes for the man before you, perhaps somewhat problematic as you knew he was a free agent and that you possibly meant nothing to him.

“Dhere it is,” he quipped, lifting the corner of your chin up so you were coerced to face him; he had noted your distress. “Mind’s blocked ‘cause ye ain’t been laid in fifty rotations.”

You scoffed, trying to put your thoughts together. You felt it absurd for him to even suggest such a thing, though it was possible what you were truly feeling was embarrassment, or denial. “That’s not- I don’t think- There’s more to it than- Really? – How da-!”

You were cut off with a kiss, a featherlight brush of Bane’s lips to yours. Immediately silenced, you could only muster a tiny moan as your shoulders drooped and your body settled completely in your chair. You relished every second, never wanting it to end. Just as soon as that notion crossed your mind, he broke away, leaving you twitterpated and with an awestruck expression plastered on your face.

“I still want to paint you-” you blurted out, though you had felt a stirring in your loins; truth be told, you wanted both – to commit his likeness to canvas, and to take him to your bed “-that was just a warm-up, I-”

He kissed you again as a means to silence you, cutting off your complaints midsentence. Once you were quiet, he pulled back to address you with a shrug of his shoulder. “Dhen ye best pay up.”

“But I can’t afford t-”

He was already wandering off, having disappeared around the corner toward your bedroom. You made out his voice calling to you from down the hall, sounding distant, but you could hear him loud and clear.

“Might be persuaded te give ye a discount.”

With this gentle prodding, you would be spurred to action; your spark was back, as was your motivation. You would paint a thousand pieces if gifted the chance to paint Bane only once in your whole lifetime.

Presently, he was your unlikely muse, and you were content with that.

—-

Masterlist

Likes, comments, reblogs appreciated.

#cad bane #cad bane x reader #cad bane x you #cadbane #star wars #duros #fanfiction #my writing #fluff #ask #reader request #comfort #clone wars #bad batch #book of boba fett #x reader #x you #Star Wars x reader

[queermentaldisaster]

“The Hunt Is My Muse”

Chapter six, guys! Now, I did have to cut out a good chunk of the dialogue, because otherwise this would have to be two or three separate chapters and i just wasn't doing that. Now, this chapter is 1,928 words, so uh...be forewarned.

Tags: @sans-chara @spicyspicyliving @meowmeowriley @forestshadow-wolf @bringinsexybackk69

Small cw for very minor and brief flashbacks + a near panic attack.

Chapter under the cut.

Chapter Six: We'll Never Surrender

No, no, this couldn’t be happening. Everything was fine only an hour ago.

They’d gotten the information from Valeria and disarmed one missile, and now…

He watched as Graves shot Soap in the arm. The panther within him snarled, as he ducked behind the vehicle. “Go, Johnny! Get out of there!” Soap barely moved, and a growl bubbled up in Ghost’s throat. “Soap, go!” The snarl in his voice propelled Soap, who shoved the dead Shadow off himself and hopped over the nearby concrete barrier. He heard Soap curse and then shift as Ghost ran. He was quick, quiet, and undetectable. He managed to get into the town, just as the Shadows began flooding in.

He managed to get halfway to the church, determined to wait for Soap, if he was still alive. Then, his radio crackled to life. “This is Bravo 7-1, in the blind…How copy?” Ghost’s heart pounded. ‘Johnny’s alive.’ “Ghost, this is 7-1, do you copy?” Ghost stabbed a Shadow in the neck before answering Soap. “Soap, this is Ghost. How copy?” There wasn’t a response. Ghost looked out the window, plotting his next movement. “Johnny?” He questioned again. “Johnny, how copy?” His voice gained a hint of worry.

“Solid.” Soap’s voice came over the radio. Ghost breathed a sigh of relief, as he made his way towards the tunnels under the city, the ones that led to the church. “Thought we lost you. You injured?” It was taking every inch of his mental strength to keep from shifting, but Soap’s voice seemed to soothe the storm as he let out a snarky response. “I’m not a medic.” That made Ghost snicker. “Tell me something I don’t know. Now, keep your blood in, you’ll need every drop.” He heard Soap sigh. “Thanks for the tip. Where are ye?” Ghost hummed. “There’s a church. I’m heading to it. Let’s RV there. You’ll need to improvise to survive.” He waited for a minute before he heard Soap speak again. “Graves and Shadow are on a killin’ spree.” Ghost nodded. “Lookin for Hassan.” Soap grunted. “Hassan and us.”

“Advise you move interior if you’re not already. It’s good cover.” Ghost said, and he heard Soap groan. “No joy, door’s locked.” Ghost huffed, rolling his eyes. ‘Has he really never done this before?’ He thought. “Look for supplies, things you can make tools with. Welcome to guerrilla warfare…” He heard Soap’s grunt of confirmation before the Scot drew in a sharp breath. “Creepin’ Jesus...” He muttered. “What are you seein?” Ghost asked softly as he snuck past some Shadows, heading straight for the church.

“A bloodbath.” Soap responded. Ghost sighed. “Watch your ass. You’ve got exactly zero allies down there.”  He heard Soap’s raised eyebrow. “We’re friends, no?” Ghost chuckled. “We’re teammates. Friendship’s not in the field manual, Johnny.” Soap let out an overexaggerated sigh. “Neither is mask-making…” That made Ghost snicker as he got into the church. Then Soap spoke again. “Poor bastard. Found a rope, LT.” Ghost nodded, sitting against the wall at the top of the church. “That’s a start. Keep lookin.” He looked down at his hands, spotting the claws and felt his hands shake. He let out a breath, and then Soap’s voice cut through the silence. “Broke off a fan blade.”

Ghost smiled. “Tie off the blade with the rope and pry open the door.” He heard Soap huff. “Sounds like you’ve done this before.” He murmured. Ghost sighed. “Years of practice…” He murmured, looking down at his hands, the phantom sensations of the maggots crawling on his bare skin coming back for a minute. Soap spoke again. “Busted the fan blade.” Ghost hummed. “Get you through the door?”

“Affirmative.” Soap confirmed. Ghost let out a breath. “Good. Stay on the hunt, there’ll be more where that came from.” Soap went quiet again, and Ghost stared down at his hands, trying to will the claws to retract. They stubbornly refused and Ghost snarled, bringing his hands up to his head. His claws dug into the mask, cracking it slightly. It felt unbearable when Johnny went quiet. The panther wanted to take control, to run through the city, killing everyone in its path until it was sure Johnny was safe. He wasn’t safe unless they could hear or see him.

He let out a groan. ‘What is he doing to me? I can’t ever think straight around him anymore! It’s like he’s completely taken over my entire heart…’ He whined, burying his face in his knees. He hasn’t felt this helpless when it came to the panther since Roba.

That thought alone damn near sets him off, and he has to talk himself down. “Johnny’s not like Roba. He’s not gonna hurt me, or use me if he finds out I’m a shifter.” He whispered, and that seemed to calm him down enough so he wouldn’t shift right there. He takes deep breaths, and then hears the radio crackle back to life. “Found a headlamp. Not too far from its…previous owner.” Soap said, and Ghost forced himself to sound like he hadn’t just damn near had a breakdown. “Good. Careful with it. Can light your way, but attract attention.”

“Oowf…” Soap muttered. “What’s the latest?” Ghost asked, concerned. “Mercs are killin’ everythin’ in their path.” Soap responded, his voice sharp and harsh. “War crimes…” Ghost muttered. “Makes me want ta commit a few war crimes of mah own.” Soap spat. Ghost growled. “Tyranny. It won’t stand.” 

“Think we’ll get the green light tae go after these guys?” Soap asked, and Ghost rolled his eyes as he set up his rifle. “No more green lights, Johnny. We’re on our own.” Soap went silent for a minute as Ghost scanned the streets with the scope of his rifle. “What about Captain Price?” Soap asked. Ghost sighed sadly. “Price isn’t here, is he? The old man can’t bail us out, not this time.” 

Soap was quiet for another moment before he spoke again. “Ah trust the Captain, if he knew, he’d be here.” Ghost chuckled, a bitter sound. “Be careful who you trust, Sergeant. People you know can hurt you the most.” He said. Soap’s chuckle was heard over the radio. “Good advice Lt, I wanna be like you when I grow up.” That…that scared Ghost. To even think of someone else as broken as he was, much less Johnny? To imagine Soap’s light snuffed out by the shit Ghost had gone through? No. “You want to be better than me, Johnny…” Soap must’ve understood how serious that was, because he said; “I will be.”

“Good man.” Ghost said. Soap huffed. “Think ah’ll live that long?” Ghost went dead silent for a minute. ‘I pray you do, Johnny.’ “Probably not.” He said out loud. Soap chuckled. “Such faith in me.” And then Soap went silent.

Ghost let his claws tap on the concrete of the church’s windowsill, a sound inaudible to anyone outside the church. He let out a breath, waiting for Soap to speak again. 

“Did you see the caged dog?” He heard Soap say. Ghost huffed. “Big geezer. If he barks, shoot him and repo quickly. Don’t get compromised.” Soap rolled his eyes. “Ye are stone cold, Simon.” Ghost’s heart fluttered at the sound of his name coming from Soap’s lips. But, he covered up his elation. “What ‘as two legs and bleeds?” he asked, and Soap groaned. “Don’t tell me…”

“‘Alf a dog.” Ghost said, smirking underneath the mask. Soap’s annoyed breath was audible, even over comms. “Ah asked ya not ta tell me.” Ghost snickered. “Gimme a sit-rep.” He ordered. Soap immediately did so. “Outside. Gated alley.” Ghost nodded. “Stick to the edges and stay low.”

“Copy.” Soap murmured. After a moment of thought, Ghost spoke up. “You may get a brag rag for this.” Soap scoffed. “A medal?” Ghost hummed in confirmation. “Chest candy.” He could hear the eye roll from Soap. “That’s all rubbish.” Ghost shrugged. “You said you wanted a win. Congratulations, you’re a winner.”

“Away ‘n bile yer heid!” Soap exclaimed and Ghost rolled his eyes. “English, MacTavish.” Soap huffed. “Sorry sir, let me translate. Go fuck yourself.” Ghost chuckled. “Much better. Now, the church is on the north side of the city. I’ve set up a sniper position in the church tower. Find your way there, and you just may make it.” Soap made a grunt of affirmation and then went quiet.

Ghost kept giving Soap tips, talking with him, and just generally keeping him company.

Then Soap spoke up again. “I’m in the coffee shop.” Ghost grinned. “Get us a tea.” Soap groaned. “Fuckin Brits…you’re gonna owe me for this.” Ghost chuffed. “Why?” Soap gekkered. “We’re fixin’ each other’s problems.”

“What’s my problem?”

“The mask…take it off.”

“Show my face?”

“Yes sir.”

“Negative.” 

“Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“I doubt that.” He heard Soap mutter, and Ghost let go of the button, frowning underneath his mask. He wasn’t pretty. The years of war and torture had made sure of that. But he’d heard once that confidence was key, so he always pretended. Pretended not to care, pretended he was prettier than he was, pretended that he was an emotionless bastard. But somehow…Soap was breaking his masks, literally and metaphorically. And he felt better than he had in years, just from hearing Soap talk, from Soap existing in his general vicinity. Maybe…he could finally be…Simon, at least around Soap.

So Ghost kept guiding, talking to, and joking around with Soap. Of course, the man’s luck ran out, because the moment he tried to open one of the shop doors at the church plaza, a Shadow opened it and would’ve killed him, if Ghost hadn’t immediately moved his scope and shot the Shadow in the head. More ran out, trying to surround the shop, and they all got cut down by Ghost. ‘You’re not gonna fuckin touch my Johnny.’ He thought. “Holy hell, Ghost, was that you?” Soap asked.

Ghost scoffed, as he got up from his position. “Who else? Now go!” He descended from the church tower, only to find a bunch of Shadows. “Gimme a bloody break…Ghost, how copy?” Soap’s voice crackled over the radio. Ghost pulled out his handgun. “Johnny, got company in the church and they’re not here for forgiveness! Get to the steps, I’ll be there!”

“Copy, Lt.” Soap said, and Ghost immediately turned and ran for the exit, firing at the Shadows. He ran out and heard Soap. “Ghost!” He looked forward and broke out into a grin under his mask. “Soap!” He exclaimed, shooting two pursuing Shadows and hopping over the gate in one movement, causing Soap to freeze and stare at him.

“We need a vehicle, on me! Stay sharp, they know we're here and they know it's us. They'll send more.” Ghost said, and Soap nodded, seeming to snap out of his stupor. They began clearing the Shadows, running for the nearest vehicle, which was a pickup truck, who’s previous owner had been…disposed of. Once they climbed in, Ghost looked at Johnny with the proudest look on his face. “Alright Johnny, you made it.” Soap did that cocky grin that Ghost just loved. “We made it, Lt.” Then, Shadows began shooting at the truck. Soap began shooting at them, and in a moment of impulse, Ghost backed up and ran them over.

“That’s one way o’ doin’ it!” Then Soap’s eyes locked onto a Shadow out the driver’s side. “Get back!” Ghost instinctually leaned back, and watched as Soap shot the Shadow. “Thanks.” Ghost muttered. Soap looked at Ghost and nodded. “Drive, I’ll cover us!” And with that, Ghost drove off.

#soap mw2 #soapghost #ghost mw2 #ghoap #ghostsoap #call of duty mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty #commander graves #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod fanfiction #fanfic #cod fic #call of duty fic #my fic #shifter!au #black panther!ghost #red fox!soap

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Can you do a BNHA LOV x male reader who is really tall (like 6’8) and is physically stronger than them? I dont know I just find the differences really funny.

Thanks a million for asking! I read this and immediately couldn't help but smile. I stuck to the characters I know best as I haven't written much BNHA in a while and I'm not quite up to date on everything.

Hope you enjoy, and again thanks a million!

Warnings: It's the LoV boys and girls, there's strong language and Toga's involved so mentions of blood.

Shigaraki Tomura

"Try not to scratch the damn ceilings, ya damn tree."

"Real creative, boss."

"Screw you."

When you first joined the league, Shigaraki had made a handful of underhanded comments on your height. It's nothing you haven't heard before and to this day some people still make you laugh with it.

You'll never get over the way Shigaraki glowers at you though.

He's like a petulant child, huffing at you to stand further away whenever he's "working" because you make him look short. You started looming over him on purpose, just waiting for him to swipe at you and tell you to piss off.

After a while though, he starts to take advantage of just how intimidating you are, and that's without your quirk. You and Dabi already get to go around and scare the shit out of everyone in the league's name, but he doesn't want Dabi standing behind him during important meetings or stand-offs. He wants you.

Take from that what you will, because Tomura sure as hell won't be admitting anything out loud.

Dabi

"Fire doesn't care how tall you are, I'll still melt your bones, pretty boy."

He doesn't give a shit, mildly annoys him when you look down your nose but seeing as you don't dare do that to him, you two get on just fine.

That doesn't mean he won't trip you every chance he gets to "bring you down a peg". He's an asshole, and you're sure to tell him so.

He makes fun of you every time you hit your head or complain about your back and makes some sort of rude or straight up lewd comment.

You can no longer tell if he's flirting with you, or insulting you, and finding out may well cost you your eyebrows.

Toga Himiko

"Oooh, you're a big boy! I'll bet you've got lots of pretty blood to spill!"

"Toga, you're creepin' the new guy out."

"Hey, how tall are you?"

Aside from being mildly creepy, Toga is by far the least "offended" by your height. She'll use you as jungle gym if you let her, climb you like a tree and sit on your shoulders and demand that you carry her around all day.

Honestly, she just wants to be carried and it makes twice slightly jealous, depending on who you ask.

According to Toga, your shoulders make for an excellent reconnaissance platform, therefore it's her job to make sure your back is "up to standards".

Honestly, she can be a lot, and you'd swear she's had a knife by your ear at some point, but she knows better than to actually cut you.

She does play with your hair though, and you've started to realise that's more for her comfort than anything else.

#bnha fluff #x male reader #fluff #league of villians x reader #ask stuff #shigaraki x reader #dabi x reader #toga x reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wallflower 12

Warnings: age gap, creepin’, slow burn, stepdad-adjacent, possible noncon/dubcon, abuse, violence, self-harm, mental illness, panic attacks.

Character: silverfox!Thor

Your mother meets a new man, but he doesn’t seem very interested in her.

Note: <3 Another erratic drabble series. Appreciate any and all feedback. Love you all.

You come to on your side, your arm tingling with pins and needles, fingers numb as you groan and shift your weight off your hand. You lay flat and stare at the ceiling.

Where are you? How did you get there?

As you bring your hands up to frame your thrumming head, there’s movement near your legs. You give a squeak as Fen crawls up the duvet and puts his snout on your shoulder, nuzzling your earlobe with his cold nose. You giggle and pet him, forgetting your confusion for a moment.

You know the room, the same one you slept in the night you stayed over with your mother. You pet Fen’s head as his breath puffs over your neck as you squint and dig deep in your mind. Your heart clutches. You remember. The fog slowly thins as your eyes tinge with horror.

You feel the tenderness of the bruises all over you. Hear your mother’s screeching as you hide and take her temper through the soft shield of your blankets. Then Thor’s deep timbre stops the assault, an argument as you hum and teeter on the edge of sanity.

The hours after that are vague. You know Fen was there before the crackling warmth of a fire, a hot mug in your hands as you sat in a daze, watching the walls, the flames and the shadow lurking around you. Then it just all swirls to dark smoke. You can’t see through it.

You sit up, it hurts. Fen softly touches your arms with his nose as you wince, licking the bruises that thrums beneath the skin. You tell him he’s good and try to smile but can’t. You look down at the cotton tee shirt, large, red, and not your own. It’s too big for you. You don’t recall changing, you don’t even know how you got to bed.

“I’m scared,” you whisper to the dog, knowing he can’t understand. He wiggles around and shows his stomach. You laugh at his attempt to cheer you and rub his middle as he writhes around happily.

You try to figure out what you do next. You search around for your clothing but there’s nothing there, nothing that belongs to you. Once more, you’re in a place where you hold no power, no possession.

Maybe you can call your mom, apologise. You never agreed to go with Thor, you were tired and having one of your episodes. She understands, she knows how you get. She hates how you get.

You shudder and bite your knuckle to keep a sob from erupting. No, you can’t. If you go back, you don’t know what she’ll do. Yesterday was terrifying. She was worse than ever, if he hadn’t come back you don’t know if you’d be waking up. Not for a while. Maybe not even at home.

You sniffle and close your eyes. You don’t want to think about when you were thirteen, when you missed two weeks of school after waking up in the hospital. The lies your mother told the staff, the therapy she rejected as useless.

Fenrir frightens you as he rolls over and stands on his tall legs, stepping over your lap and sitting straight at the foot of the bed. His chest rumbles as he faces the open door. You wipe your eyes and swallow your grief as Thor watches you from the doorway. A cold ripple flows through you as you’re reminded of your first night there, he watched you then too.

“Good morning, kitten,” he says, his voice gritty with sleep. He steps just inside, arms crossed over a thin tank top that hangs low on his chest and clings to his thick middle above his red plaid pajama pants, “are you okay?”

You chew your thumb and quickly rip it away. Nervously, you wring the top of the blankets. He stares at you, eyes slipping for just a moment as the cool air nips at your arms and seeps through the cotton. You peek down, your nipples pointing through the fabric and you hide behind the duvet.

“I’m sorry,” your throat is creaky and dry, “I’ll…” you quaver as Fen lowers his head, his gaze set on his master, “go. I… my mom will calm down and–”

“No, you can’t go back,” he says as he comes closer, holding his palm out to the hound. Fen reluctantly nuzzles him and lets his pat his head, “ever.”

“But… I don’t belong here.”

“You don’t belong there,” he insists, “you’re more than welcome here.”

“Thank you but… I shouldn’t stay. I don’t have anything. No money, no… nothing.”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” he shrugs as he drops his hands to his hips, “I brought you here to keep you safe.” He comes around the side of the bed and sits on the edge lightly. Fen turns to watch, once more placing his head in your lap, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“What?” You put your hand on Fen’s ear and rub the soft fur.

“About Kat. What she does to you.”

You bite down and lower your lashes, watching how your hands scratch behind the dog’s ears, focusing on that effort. “I ruined her life.”

“Shhh,” he touches your arm gently and Fen’s eyes flick up but he doesn’t move, “that’s not true, kitten.”

“It is, she never wanted me and I never did anything. I… I don’t want to talk about it,” your shoulders slouch and you shiver, “please don’t make me.”

“I won’t,” he squeezes your arm and drags his hand down to yours. He plays with your fingers delicately, “you’re a special girl, kitten, she’s wrong. I hope you can see that.”

“I…” you close your eyes, your head hurts, a nail driving deeper and deeper at the base of your skull, “I’m not.”

“I think so,” he twines his fingers through yours, his skin rough but warm, “don’t be sad, kitten, you’re safe.”

“She’ll be so mad,” you yank you hand as panic suddenly surges, “she’s going to be so–” you tug again as he resists, trying to cling to you before you free yourself. You clutch your head between your hands, “she’s going to be so mad!” You repeat frantically as Fen sniffs at your chest, “no, no, I have to go home and say sorry. I have to, I have too,” you lean forward and begin to rock, wincing as Thor touches your side.

You fall back and shield yourself, your mind flashing with your mother standing over you, her shoe in her hand, “I’m sorry, mommy!”

“Kitten,” Thor shifts closer as Fen stands and looms over you, his wet tongue licking your cheeks, “please, breathe, it’s okay, you’re okay—”

“N-noooooo,” you clasp onto his thick wrist as you heave, “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry–”

Fen laps at your tears, tickling your neck as he sniffs, almost panicked too as he tries to calm you. Thor places his large hand against your crown and leans over you, “Kitten, please, kitten, she’s not here.”

“I… I…” you whine, trapped between the hound and the man, “I…”

“Count for me, kitten,” he cradles your head, his thumbs on your damp cheeks, rubbing gently circles into your skin, “one… two… kitten, please…”

You quiver and force out a sharp breath, “three,” you eke out and he hums, “f-four–”

“Five,” he counts in unison with you, “six…”

Your heart slows and you catch your breath, counting to twenty before you’re steady. You’re drained and limp across the mattress as Thor stays close, his hand along the side of your face as he hunches over you. Fen watches with worry in his golden eyes.

“Kitten,” Thor rasps, speaking low as if not to break the calm, “you’re an adult, you’re grown. I won’t keep you here but we both know your mother won’t let you back.”

“She… won’t?” You gasp as you put your hand against his.

He seems to twitch at your touch and he nods. You know he’s right, last night changes everything and after so long trapped in your mother’s routine, change is horrifying.

#wallflower #thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel avengers #series

[ariesmusingz]

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ╱ white noise ( deluxe ) sentence starters pt 1 ( created using lyrics from pvris' white noise deluxe album. feel free to adjust to fit your muse. )

i know it's warmer where you are and it's safer by your side

right now i can't be what you want

just give it time

if you and i can make it through the night

if you and i can keep our love alive

we'll find we can meet in the middle

bodies and souls collide

dance in the moonlight when all the stars align for you and i

i know it's cold when we're apart

i hate to feel this die

you can't give me what i want

for now we stay so far til our lonely limbs collide

i can't keep you in these arms

i'll keep you in my mind

we stay so far

can we meet in the middle?

i want the world to believe that there's a light inside of me

it's time that i'll come clean

i'm not what i seem

some would say i'm possessed

i'll confess

i've just been obsessed with life and death and emptiness

can't you see all of the change in me?

you took all these starving limbs

tried to see what they cold be

i thought i would be something

i thought you'd complete me

that you'd erase all the pain that i felt in my brain

you filled my heart with love then you'd fill the voids above

now you see that didn't change a thing

what do you want from me?

i'm empty

this isn't violence

this is just a war in my head

i give it time but it never seems to end

i feel a fire in the back of my throat

so let's get covered in flames and play some games with the smoke

don't you try to run right now cause baby, i could burn you down

you make your way into my veins

course right through my limbs and dig your way into my brain

int he second that you walk into a room i can't help myself from the things that you do

you're killing me right now

i think it's time you burn me down

i love the things we do when it's just me and you

i'm burning up

you're just a ghost of blissful feelings

a cloud of smoke that i keep breathing

i'm losing you to the games in my mind

i see your face

now it's changed, shape shifting

don't wanna open my eyes

you give me something to talk about

i know it's chemicals that make me cling to you

i need a miracle to get away form you

i'm not spiritual

i think you're a saint

i think you're an angel

you give me something to talk about that's not the shit in my head

you're a miracle

transparent hands around my neck

i love the way you let me breathe instead

take in your chemicals

you're a glimpse of bliss

a little taste of heaven

i need a miracle to bring me back to you

i know you're gone now but i still wait for you

i still wait for you

i feel you in these walls

you're a cold air creepin' in

chill me to the bones and skin

i heard you down the hall but it's vacant when i'm looking in

who let you in?

you walk around like you own the place

you never say anything

i caught you walking straight through my walls

guess it was all my fault

i think i let you in

never thought that i would feel like this

such a mess when i'm in your presence

i've had enough

think you've been making me sick

gotta get you out of my system

it's my house and i think it's time to get out

it's my soul

it isn't yours anymore

i think it's time to get out

you're at my bedroom door

heard your footsteps on the floor

closer than ever before

now you're in my room

under sheets, avoiding you

i can hear you pace

circling my bed frame

we're face to face

head on my pillow case

darling, you can't stay

haven't you heard?

i'm not yours anymore

chill me to my bones and skin

you've got it all but you've got it all wrong

you don't know

you're a poor unfortunately soul

i know you make it seem like you feel whole

you put on a faith facade

think you're holy when you're not

i hate to break it to you baby, but you're simply lost

you can right all the wrongs just to feel like you belong

simply calling out sings don't bring you closer to god

you're just a ghost at most

a set of empty bones

searching for anything and everything to make you feel whole

you're all alone

you can't control where your body lets you go

you say i've got it all wrong

there's no way that there's weight in the words that you preach

when you're claiming your faith and you contradict your speech

i sit here and listen to your tongue and cheek

i know that when you sit and pray, you're only praying for keeps

you can't control where your body lets you go

you're shallow and empty and filled with regret

i think that chest must be heavy from that cross on your neck

you only wear cause you're wary of what comes next after your death

don't think i didn't notice

don't think i didn't know

#rp sentence prompts #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #memes: mine #roleplay memes #rp memes #rp promts #rph #rpt #rp help

[coconut-dreamz]

creepin'- neteyam sully

pairing: adult!neteyam sully x adult!f!reader

genre: modern au, angst, very very angsty

word count: 1.2k

warnings: cheating (not neteyam tho)

part 2

a/n: very angsty little drabble based off creepin' by 21 savage, the weeknd and metro boomin. i've been obsessed with this song lately and just needed to write this

Somebody said they saw you The person you were kissing wasn't me And I would never ask you, I just kept it to myself

earlier i had gotten a text from ao'nung. he asked if me and y/n broke up, cause he saw her at a club with another guy. he even sent me a picture, it was definitely her. she was wearing the dress i'd gotten her for her birthday a few weeks ago. his hands were all over her, his lips on her own. seeing the physical evidence of her infidelity broke my heart. i had my suspicions, but there had been no physical evidence. not until now. i couldn't even bring myself to answer his text. i had just been sitting on the edge of the bed for what felt like hours now. 

I don't wanna know, if you're playing me Keep it on the low Cause my heart can't take it anymore And if you creeping, please don't let it show Oh baby, I don't wanna know

it was late when i finally found the energy to move. i crawled on my side of the bed and slipped under the sheets. i tried to fall asleep, but it was impossible. i couldn't stop thinking about the picture. it didn't help when she hadn't come home. she told me she was gonna be out with some friends. it was really late, when she finally came home and crawled into bed next to me. she smelled like alcohol and cologne that definitely wasn't mine. but the worst part, was that i was finally able to fall asleep now that she was holding me.

in the morning i woke up before her, i got up and decided to make breakfast for the both of us. i was in the middle of scrambling some eggs when she walked out from the bedroom, only wearing one of my tshirts. "morning love, did you have fun last night?" i look her in the eyes when asking. "yeah, the girls and i had a lot of fun at the club." she answers, lying straight to my face. honestly, i was glad she was lying about what had truly happened. that way, i could pretend that everything was still alright. i loved her too much to let go of her, so if this made her happy i wouldn't say anything. as long as she returned to me every night. 

I think about it when I hold you When looking in your eyes, I can't believe And I don't need to know the truth But baby keep it to yourself 

we were cuddling on the couch she was laying in my lap, a fluffy blanket wrapped around her frame. we were watching a random romcom i wasn't paying attention to. instead, i was looking at her. admiring her as she focused on the story unfolding before us. she looks up at me and grins when she realizes i was watching her. "whatcha lookin at?" she asks in a teasing tone. "just you," i answer with a small grin on my face. she just laughs and turns back to the film.

her eyes looked different now, no longer were they filled with love like before. now, there was something else in her eyes. there was now a veil of deception covering her irises, a veil that hadn't always been there. i just pushed the thought out of my mind and tried to enjoy the comfort of being with her.

I don't wanna know, if you're playing me Keep it on the low Cause my heart can't take it anymore And if you creeping, please don't let it show Oh baby, I don't wanna know

it was another girls night, tonight. ever since i had received that text from ao'nung, i had dreaded girls nights. before, i was happy that she enjoying time with her friends, but now i knew that it was just a cover for her to hookup with other men. but i continued to pretend that i was blissfully unaware of her actions. so, when she left for girls night i gave her the kiss i always did and wished her a goodnight.

 "i'm leaving now baby!" her voice calls out from the front door, i rush over from my spot on the couch to bid her goodbye. i kiss her on the lips like i always do. "have fun baby, tell the girls i say hi," i add with a smile, but deep down i knew that the girls would never hear my greeting. "i will baby, i'll be back later," she responds and puts her heels on. i watched her walk out the door and right into the arms of another and i had to pretend i didn't know a thing.

Did he touch you better than me?  Did he watch you fall asleep  Did you show him all those things that you used to do to me?

she came home late once again that night. i laid awake in bed waiting for her to return to me. i couldn't do anything to take my mind off from her infidelity. i couldn't stop think about if he touched her better than i did and that's why she sought him out. i heard the door open and her keys jingle as they fell into the bowl that held them. i could hear her stumble her way towards our bedroom. she tries to stay quiet as she changes out of her dress and climb into bed alongside me. 

it's not long before i can hear her deep breaths, signaling that she had fallen asleep. i turn over and look at her peaceful state. i thought about whether or not she ever fell asleep in his arms like she does with me. or is this state that i only ever saw. thoughts about whether or not she showed him the places we liked to go and the things we do together.If you're better off that way  Baby all that I can say  If you're gonna do your thing, then don't come back to me

slowly, i was getting tired of the pretending. the girl's nights had become more frequent, along with staying back late for "work" i couldn't handle the lies anymore. i wish one day she would go out one night and never return to our shared apartment. she seemed less and less happy every time she came home, but she grew more and more happy before she left for her outings. when she was gone, it'd make me wonder where it had all gone wrong. when i had no longer been enough to satisfy her. was he richer than me? smarter than me? funnier than me? was he a better lover than me? 

If you creeping just don't let me find out  Get a hotel never bring him to the house  If you're better off that way  Baby all that I can say  If you're gonna do your thing, then don't come back to me

at first i was okay with the idea as long as she didn't ever let me know what was truly going on. i was happy she wasn't bringing him back to our home, our sanctuary. after a few months, i realized that if he was making her happier then she should be with him and end this madness. it was driving me crazy, all the lies and deceit that was between us now. i had finally had enough. when she was gone for a girls trip, i had packed up all my things and left. when she came back, the only thing that belonged to me would be my wedding ring, sat on top of divorce papers.

#neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam angst #avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #atwow #atwow angst

[ashes0909]

If you still doing the Writing Game

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter TimeTurners regret happiness rate e, please

Finally found time to get words on page for this incredibly smutty Drarry piece. I can't believe this is only my second Drarry fic outside of some very, very old LiveJournal attempts thank you for giving me an excuse to write it!

TW: Harry does some nonconsensual creepin' that very quickly turns consensual.

----

The fall of Voldemort brought many things with it, including an Eighth Year to Hogwarts. Harry had more coursework to make up than most of the students and because of that, he was issued his very own Time-Turner. 

It was the stupid thing’s bloody fault he was in this mess to begin with. See, midway through the school year Harry stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have seen, wish he hadn’t seen, but now that he had seen it, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. 

At ten o’clock every evening, when Harry knew most of the castle was asleep, he slipped from his bed and down to the common room. From a shadowed corner, he flipped the Time-Turner over and over until he got to the specific moment. The sleeping common room shifted and turned, until it stopped at an entirely too familiar moment in time. 

The Night Everything Changed. It lit up like bold letters in his mind. He knew the trodden pathways well, and had memorized where everyone was weeks ago. Including, and specifically, Draco Malfoy. 

He slipped around one corner, down a moving staircase that landed him exactly where he wanted to be: the dungeon level prefect bathroom. Harry checked the time and knew by now that if he slipped into the bathroom at just the right moment, the rush from the bathtub’s faucet would cover up the sounds of his entry. 

Honestly, Harry couldn’t remember what first brought him to the bathroom weeks ago, but he knew what made him stay: pale skin in the moonlight, covered only in soap suds, sitting on the edge of the large bathtub, hand wandering down a lithe and now-familiar chest. It was the soft gasping moans that transfixed him, the way Malfoy--without even being in full view--could transform from enemy to erotic fixation. Harry’s cock twitched behind layers of fabric.

He knew these moments by heart, and had them fixed to his memory for a lifetime. And that’s how he knew tonight was different. Where there was usually a moan, Malfoy’s head thrown back in pleasure, tonight there was a heated laugh and Malfoy’s dark gaze fixed on the spot he hid. “Like what you see, Potter?”

Harry couldn’t move, could barely breathe, let alone respond. His interest twitched in his robes--the sight of Malfoy, naked and staring at him was a shock straight to his cock--but every other part of Harry froze. 

“You’re not the only one with a Time Turner,” Malfoy continued. “Told my other self to bugger off tonight and let me come into the bathroom instead. Been waiting, since I caught you that first time.”

A whirl of thoughts flew through Harry’s mind: how long ago had ‘that first time’ been? When did Malfoy first find out? But, more importantly, why had he continued to let Harry watch. Was this a game? Was he about to be hexed?

But Malfoy didn’t look mad. Malfoy looked, well, beautifully aroused.

At a crossroads, Harry knew he could turn and run away. And he’d regret it forever. Instead, he took a shaky breath and stepped into the moonlight. Once in full view, Malfoy’s smirk morphed into an actual smile. A hand ran water and suds along his chest once more, while the other one wrapped back around his cock, stroking, while knowing fully well that Harry was watching.

Harry couldn’t help himself, he pressed his own palm over his robes, giving his aching cock some much needed pressure. Malfoy’s gaze dropped down to Harry’s hand, while speeding up the stroking rhythm of his own. 

“I guess that’s a yes, then?” Malfoy did throw his head back and moan then, only it was unlike anything Harry had seen before, a full performance, just for Harry. “You do like what you see?”

Harry let out a shaky breath, thrusting into his own hand. 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Answer me or I’ll stop.”

That was the last thing Harry wanted, so he nodded, a short, quick lowering of his chin.

Malfoy’s hand froze. “I can’t hear you, Potter.”

“I’m not the only one hard here, Malfoy.” Harry gritted his teeth. “But fine, yes, I…like what I’m seeing. Now will you continue or--”

Malfoy laughed, his hand returning, only this time with a lazy stroke. “I bet there’s a part of you that wishes your hands were on me. Maybe your mouth. Maybe you’d like me to step out of this bath and walk over to you and drop to my knees…”

Harry wanted to spell away his robes so badly, he had to call back a loose impulse of wandless magic. He needed the pressure of skin on skin, but also wanted to retain some level of self-control. 

So of course, Malfoy upped the ante, spread his legs and started running fingers along a hole that Harry could barely make out in the dim bathroom, but still honed in Harry’s focus like a spotlight shining on it from the moon itself.

All remaining control vanished from Harry, he barely kept his magic in check because he didn’t need to spell away his robes, he was too busy making a complete mess out of them, coming from minimal pressure at the most erotic sight he’d ever laid eyes upon.

It was clear, Malfoy could tell exactly when he came. Harry could tell in the way Malfoy’s smile twisted into predatory delight. The way he didn’t stop staring at Harry as he stroked himself fast and stretched himself loose. With one final gasp and turn of his head, he followed Harry over the edge, coming in long lines over his chest, his hand, his thighs.

Harry’s mouth watered, followed quickly by a heavy curtain of shame and fear falling down over him. What had he just done? And with whom? Few people would ever call him a coward, but Malfoy would, and in this moment he’d be right. 

Harry fled straight from the bathroom, all the way back to his bed.

~~~

The next morning Harry woke up still aroused, visions of Malfoy inescapably plaguing him from the moment he slipped into consciousness. He spent the day battling away memories of the night before, trying to focus, and steadily avoiding Malfoy.

Until Charms. 

They shared Charms, and Harry considered skipping it but his arousal had other plans, leading him like a beacon into Malfoy’s proximity.

Would he get punched? Hexed? Laughed at? 

He didn’t make it into the classroom. Malfoy was leaning against the wall across from the entrance, knee bent with a foot on the stone, arms crossed. Harry pulse raced; no one should look that good covered in layers of Hogwarts robes. But Harry knew what those robes hid, what that face looked like when he came, how his heated laugh sounded as he stroked his cock.

“Malfoy,” Harry greeted.

A smirk in reply. But, Harry hadn’t been punched, hexed, or laughed at yet. Malfoy’s smirk went straight to his cock. “Potter.” Malfoy licked his lips and Harry couldn’t look away. A few students walked past them, eyeing them with curiosity. Malfoy ignored them and continued, “You left before I could give you my notes.”

“...Notes?” 

“About our group project.”

Confusion flooded Harry but it was tinged with the beginning flutters of excitement, happiness even. Malfoy wasn’t going to hurt him or yell at him or shame him. Instead, Malfoy was going to proposition him. 

Harry beamed. “Right, our group project.” 

Malfoy tilted his head to an empty classroom at the end of the hall. “Meet me there after Charms.” The last of the students were walking into class, it was almost time for it to start. “If you want to keep working on the project together, of course.”

Then, Malfoy walked into their classroom, leaving Harry stunned, half-hard and buzzing with the prospect of what exactly they were getting themselves into.

It was nearly impossible to sit through Charms, but Harry managed. Barely.

----

If anyone else is interested, check out my Writing Game!

#writing #tumblr fic #drarry #harry/draco #fanfiction #tvd1992 #dracy/harry

[realhankmccoy]

fuckin cracks me up that Americans think of Blood Meridian as postmodernist.... ahahahahaha... this stupid fucking country. there's a lot of them who think it is, too. I guess they didn't notice the Bible literally materialising in it. I guess they never read a Cormac McCarthy interview? I guess they don't know what a western crossed with Stephen King written in a flat modernist style that -- oh how it would displease Harold Bloom, perhaps, to hear it -- clearly has Hemingway in it?

Who reads that book and thinks 'PoMo?'

anyhow at least that idiot who got it wrong tonight -- as he always gets everything wrong -- wrote a few good lines creepin on me before devolving into the standard issue conservative cucked stuff implausible seams showing about pussy (drag is only magical if you're convincing, hunty, and so is straight drag) and trying to use too many big words like Elon does in order to 'sound more intelligent' which obviously doesn't work when these people don't know the reason big words exist and how to use them... like saying you're 'aspirationally Jewish' which is still driving me up the wall... Elon says so much stupid shit.

so yes if that idiot had his shit together and realised he's an idiot and what to fix, i mean 3/8ths of that post was solid and probably his best writing in years, notwithstanding the massive glaring error about Cormac McCarthy, he who is quite comfortable with good vs evil, he who probably votes Republican -- being pomo. I mean what the fuck is Republican pomo anyhow? What would that even be? The whole Republican thing is an infantile longing for order, not the postmodernist project of sewing disorder.

Notwithstanding how it annoys me that I'm an influence on the idiot, for it has never been about control and narcissism with me (the idiot only projected this upon me because that's how Trump is and that's how he, as Trump's cuck, is) I actually don't like influencing anybody, probably because I don't like myself very much and don't need to be seeing any more of myself in the world. It actually just grosses me out and depresses me to see anything inspired by me. 100% of the time I think art inspired by me sucks, and why wouldn't I? I don't even like any of my art. That's not a posture, kids. I can't think of a single thing I've ever written that I'd feel comfortable handing to anybody like it's any good. This isn't some noble thing, either. I just don't like it. I don't like the sound of anything I have made, pretty much. And why would I? Why would I when I was programmed by the parents and the community to know my total insignificance and still am despite occasional moments where they try to make me feel like I have some? The overwhelming --

But whatever, it doesn't really matter as I believe in the Sagan stuff about our insignificance anyhow, at the same time believing in the signficance of everyone and all the small things, which I then have to apply to myself, because leaving yourself out is not objective, and then when I extend that to myself, the whole thing blows up because the forces that drive me don't compute.

Now, there is a sewing of disorder in the Republican as it generates chaos trying to get what it wants -- 'divide and conquer' and i know some awful liberal-ish money conquest women who also think that way.

That's not the same thing tho. That's like, Papa Hemingway with a John Wayne streak.

I really will never quite understand why Harold Bloom hates Stephen King but wets himself for Blood Meridian. It's like a boring Stephen King novel. Sure, I guess it's more formally literary but also you know, more formally boring. The Judge -- I feel like Mike Judge would do better in a Beavis & Butthead film. But Mr. Bloom didn't really watch MTV.

Nope, kids, I just didn't get it. Usually Harold Bloom is somebody I agree with almost across the board, but I just don't get it. Perhaps it's a HETERONORMATIVE THING, much like Tarantino fanboys are.

anyhow i kinda feel bad for that idiot cuck having to find every sticker on the sticker sheet and apply it to itself because it's so typically american these days.

it's so... 'i'm every woman' only it's not succinct, it's just embarrassing, like these americans always trying to elbow on top of each other in their rat race in which they're always a tool, always a derivative, never truly the Boss that they want to be, for their is always a bigger boss, and the biggest boss is Trump.

rather than dabble and wander between the whole sticker set of crowns and swords and cups and pussy and cock, why not just grow a pair of balls and commit to something outré

i mean look at it this way: even somebody who committed wholeheartedly to the entire Princess sticker sheet is more of a man than some idiot who can't figure out which Lucky Charm he feels like today. oh, i remember that age well... sometimes i felt like blue diamons, other times green clovers... and always like green trees, limited.

and there's always man of them to eat again and again

but when i see like a Canadian trans woman commit wholeheartedly to being a 5-yr-old girl, now that takes balls. that takes courage.

you either want to muddy the waters to seem deep, like Nietzsche says, or you want to clarify something or choose a course.

nothing this idiot cuck ever does smacks of courage. it is courage free. they have some good ability to pay attention to television at times, for whatever that's worth. maybe they are best suited for television analysis for geeks into the details of television shows. it's very American, caring a lot about your shows and the details.

hey, credit where due, it's American but i sure don't have the patience to figure out every detail and quote about some crap on tv.

so, yes, there's a toddler with a sticker sheet who wants to be a princess, but a real princess would jump in all the way if she had some balls:

and let us not think this is about emasculation, it's about people who are trying to be a sticker sheet generalist and paste them all onto themselves willy nilly in ways that i only find tragicomic, camp and kitsch

for example why not choose this sticker sheet? the reason is because the idiot cuck has no balls

as a channel-surfer of nuclear suburbia, it's too much sustained focus for the cuck, who is used to using the clicker to go through all the shows... a masculinity crippled by tv, much like Rabbit Angstrom ended up at in middle age

being that i am FUCKING BORED with systemic cucks maybe they can work on that but i doubt they're capable of it any more than they're capable of buying me a steak because

what's a toddler in front of a tv gonna be capable of?

seriously tho who thinks this guy is PoMo at heart?

he's such a conservative western christcuck who is terrified by the pomo world he finds himself in. that's what The Road was all about, kiddos. That's what everything he writes seems to be about. I don't share his terror... I'm liberal and we're not as big of cowards. OH IS AMERICA GOING TO COLLAPSE I'M SO SCARED

"a comedown of revolving doors"

either you're a chickenshit male or you're a female with far more guts, apparently. Cormac was a chickenshit. Emily Haines was not.

yes, you know, the American conservative is correct here, more correct than Harold Bloom I think.

'conservative pessimism' is what Cormac is i suppose Harold could be described as a conservative pessimist

too -- even as Harold's politics were with the Democrats, certainly he was trying to conserve literature in a sort of you know, different form of conservation -- there's a big difference between a 'conservative' and a 'conservationist', kids.

slip in a little Jesus

i dunno kids, i think there's something that neurotically went wrong with Harold Bloom, maybe frustration with feminism and identity politics and anarchists and deviance, that made his brain glom on to McCarthy a bit too aggressively is my theory cuz it truly has long been probably the main thing about Bloom that i can't get on the same page with... McCarthy enthusiasm

but i was spoiled by all that Stephen King at a young age, you see, and Stephen is far more imaginative and dreamlike than some writer of a fuckin' dark western.

but even... i mean i'm sorry, where's the Literature in McCarthy? Bloom never really seems to explain it. he just goes on and on about the character the Judge and the foreboding and the collapse of western civ... i mean, whatever dude ya never seen those themes before? Themes and ideas aren't discussing the LITTY RAT TURD or whatever ghost in the machine where did it go, where's Cormac LITTY RAT TURD if that's what this is all about? I just did not quite pick up on it, mmkay?

As for that cuck who is incapable of being exactly what i say its incapable of

it should find a sticker set that isn't just the generic all-encompassing one the parents always hand to the kids

and have the balls to go for it

David Bowie committed to different ways of life -- different personas -- for long periods of time -- it wasn't a costume party you flip in and out of like Lady Gaga who didn't understand it, you know?

like, read a book on method acting

i've been through a lot of looks and places and focuses and lifestyles in a lightweight curious fashion, more of a discovery zone than a statement

do you really want to look back on how you played king or bro every other day for years i mean zzzzz what are you a conservative? are you Elvis? Because he played the king as often as you do, princess and he was a Republican.

Bowie played the Goblin King briefly and it was explictly an evil role, portraying royalism as the establishment to be defeated.

Meanwhile there's Gaga in a crown with her Bad Romance posse and fake druggy fake decadence (the counter of albums sold and the ensuing profits is the most honestly thing about that video and what it's all about) which is just pathetic, the garishness of proudly capitalistic -- as proudly capitalistic as Trump

establishmentarian re-enforcement of daddies who owned 24 hotels or whatever thanks Gaga blech

anyhow, any deviance would be a good idea rather than copping from my page and being YET ANOTHER AMERICAN THINKING IF THEY SHOULD DON THAT COWBOY HAT FOR POWER.

how many times on this blog now have i talked about how much this video pissed me off when 'Greater Albania' Bugs Bunny here gets her rodeo on

Dua Lipa is just more of this push for Warner Brothers to turn music into a Barbie product in the kids' bop aisle at Wal-Mart. Her lyrics don't even gel in this dumb song or her stuck up tone wrecks it... it comes across as totally fake and there being no real 'love' at all which is probably the truth, ain't it? But she sings the lie.

That White Town song she samples is better than her song, and i doubt Bugs Barbie or Lola Bunny Lips or whatever she goes by is capable of gender-bending.

This is what good music used to be, kids. Chaka Khan gets what adulthood is about -- it's not about rabbit tricks (which are rooted in retaliatory fear of being eradicated and then turn into aggro, which is a pervasive mentally unhealthy and effectually sociopathic and repetitively abusive cowardice and sickness in most americans, from Trump to Swift) and it's not about Trumpian conquest and taking.

#cormac mccarthy #harold bloom #dua lipa #chaka khan #modernism #westerns #postmodernism #cowboy #cowgirl #cowboys #cowboy culture #Youtube #metric #emily haines #white town

[galacticlee3]

FREE SPEECH-

Imagine it's 16!Sokouku, and Chuuya's finally found the key to fuck with Dazai, aka tickling him half to death.

Chuuya wants to take revenge on this little shit for, y'know, being a little shit-

SO THE NEXT DAY, they're at Chuuya's apartment, Dazai's begrudgingly doing reports while Chuuya's out of his line of sight, which is the first warning sign. Chuuya's creepin' up on him, ready, fucking ready-

And then he just dives for his waist, straight up rip a scream out of that boy from ticklishness and fright.

They get into a little squabble and Dazai's at least able to slink away, which causes a whole ass chase around the entire house. They're knocking over furniture, spilling report papers everywhere, Dazai's slipping and sliding on his socks and Chuuya is MOTIVATED.

Dazai gets desperate-

Bitch runs out the house with no shoes on. Chuuya breaks down laughing but he goes after him in slippers anyways.

And then proceeds to tackle him to the ground and tickle him to pieces on the sidewalk-

uwu

EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR IDEAS IS LITERALLY GOLD

SCREAMING THIS IS SO CUTE

#friends #djc #lee!dazai #ler!chuuya

[thenixkat]

CLIPPING - Nothing Is Safe

[Verse 1] Everyone safe and sound; this how family do Only homies around, everyone here is crew Somethin' foul in the air, somethin' feelin' askew Wind is in the pipes, is that whistle callin' for you? Don't holler; it's cool Windows boarded and sealed, doors are bolted and locked Product cookin' on pace, weaponry fully stocked Bodies sleepin' in shifts, other bodies keep watch Bullets are for anybody caught runnin' up in the spot, the pop, the pop Drop the lights, so drop low, something shot from the trees Went straight through the front door, homie drop to his knees Blood seepin' from his neck, as he struggle to breathe Wooden floors stained wet, gets soft the more that he bleeds, he leaves, believe

[Pre-Chorus] Didn't no one summon what was comin' But it creepin' on a come up Now it's right up in your face Face it, let it resonate up in your bone a minute When you shiver, make a sliver Big enough for it to have a space Ripped life slipping away Maybe you can make it out with just a little bit of grace But it truly doesn't give a fuck about the fear you feelin' It is here to make you understand that nothing is safe

[Chorus] Nothing is, nothing is safe Nothing is sacred Nothing is safe, nothing to pray for, nothing is safe, nothing is Nothing is

[Verse 2] Cut the light and stay low; all is quiet and still Peerin' through the window, starin' over the field Scent of death in the air, nothing out there looks real Close the homie's eyes, now is not the time to be feelin', really load up Furniture to the walls, barricade you inside Lose the lights in the hallways, everyone gon' be fine Phone that no one should call starts to ringin' one time All the homies' eyes slide to it then the walls split from the outside The air rushes in; it's cold as fuck, bullets slappin' like hail, more homies struck down The mission has failed; the wood is split, splintered chandelier falls and smashes hard Glass and steel everywhere in every throat, screams in protest You all are dyin', and really will anyone care? Truth, like death, comes for everyone

[Pre-Chorus] Barely had to summon what was comin' It was creepin' on a come up Now it's right up in your face Face it, let it resonate up in your bone a minute When you shiver, make a sliver Big enough for it to have a space Ripped life slipping away Maybe you can make it out with just a little bit of grace But it truly doesn't give a fuck about the fear you feelin' It is here to make you understand that nothing is safe

[Chorus] Nothing is, nothing is safe Nothing is sacred Nothing is safe, nothing to pray for, nothing is safe Nothing is Nothing is

[Verse 3] Death is comin' for you, but you already knew that Thought the clique up brought you some safety up in this pack But that didn't add up, back up, stand up, strike a pose With your gat up, that's what they like, you suppose They gon' rack up, stack up that stuff that you stole But the fact of status wrapped up in black cold Caskets cannot be ignored; runnin' so fast should had an award Homies got gassed for cash from that score Y'all could have made a dash just after one more So your foot up on the gas and smash 'round the corner Only one man was sent to the coroner Wasn't part of the plan, but damn, the fast foreign Whip was too quick to flip and fast-forward The past smashed every wall, pillar and floorboard Ashes to ashes, dust in the lung Fire now on everything, gasoline been poured Last piece of action 'fore you succumb Just catch a glance of what could have done this Somethin' 'bout how he walks remind you of someone You look and see a gun, a man with no face A golden halo that could be the sun

[Pre-Chorus] Long ago, you summoned what was comin' It was creepin' on a come up Now it's right up in your face Face it, let it resonate up in your bone a minute When you shiver, make a sliver Big enough for it to have a space Ripped life slipping away Maybe you can make it out with just a little bit of grace But it truly doesn't give a fuck about the fear you feelin' It is here to make you understand that nothing is safe

[Chorus] Nothing is, nothing is safe Nothing is sacred Nothing is safe, nothing to pray for, nothing is safe, nothing is Nothing is

#youtube #clppng #clipping band #black music #horror hiphop #eyestrain #flashing #lyrics

[x-heesy]

I rave-up in the grave, bitch, you know what the fuck is up

Fallen angels want to play the dice, I be the devil's son

Bloody Mary chokin' on the semen, eat the fuckin' cum

Antichrist up in this bitch, I put the seed right in the cunt

Body bag for the bitch, get dead with the stitch

So fake, cut the shit, you say, get a grip

Get down on your knees, lay down, rest in peace

Holy Mother knows I'm killin' sinners, I'm here for the feast

I was talkin' to the devil on a motherfuckin' flip phone

"Pardon me, how Jesus goin'? Motherfucker's dead, gone"

Killed that bitch, his veins stopped flowin', sleepin' under gravestone

Smoked this bitch, he gone, and you'll be callin' me a big smoke

It's that nine to yo' dome

What you, what you gonna do, bitch? (Goodbye)

It's that nine to yo' dome

What you, what you gonna do, bitch? (Goodbye)

Yuh, I'm comin' with the Desert Eagle straight up in your town

I be creepin' in the night so you can't even hear a sound

Shoot my pistol-pistol, then I put the demons on the ground

I'm so sick of burnin' churches, so I turn it all around

Body bag for the bitch, get dead with the stitch

So fake, cut the shit, you say, get a grip

Get down on your knees, lay down, rest in peace

Holy Mother knows I'm killin' sinners, I'm here for the feast

Creep in the silence, embrace the violence

Don't call the sirens, wait for your guidance

Antichrist by Redzed

@bethanythestrange @bigbonzo @seanisnothing

#Inyaface #gif moodboard #gif mood board #mood In between #3/2024 #redzed #trap #antichrist #666 #hail satan #religion is a mental illness #SwaG #Rap #rapper #Trapper #dark rap #bouncer #trap music #rap music #sick beats #nasty beats #sick and twisted #x-heesy #fucking favorite #music #now playing #spotify #music and art

[221bornottobe]

Creepin Inta Yer Heart - Chapter 7

“Whatcha lookin at so seriously?” Atsumu says as he leans his face next to Kiyoomi’s to try and catch a peek at what he’s doing on his phone. Kiyoomi’s soul just about ricochets out of his body. He flinches so hard that his phone jumps out of his hand and onto the floor. Atsumu goes to pick it up and Kiyoomi feels his stomach drop. He is up and out of his seat before Atsumu can stand up straight again, “Give me my phone,” he demands taking steps closer and reaching for the phone in his friend’s hand.  But because he’s awful and an instigator and maybe because he’s a twin, his instinct is to hold the phone further away from Kiyoomi. The fact that the screen went to sleep is a small mercy to him seeing as Atsumu knows his passcode and could very easily open it and see the incriminating words.  Oh my god, he needs his phone back now.

The ten assumptions Kiyoomi makes about Atsumu and himself and the times he's proven wrong. Set against the backdrop of Creep -- the cover by Post Modern Jukebox.

Read on AO3 | Start from the Beginning

#sakuatsu #sakusa kiyoomi #miya atsumu #atsumu #haikyuu #My fic #ao3 fanfic #haikyuu fic #SKTS #sakusa x atsumu

[higherpriestess312]

Preface:

Remember that I AM a writer. I am capable of compartmentalizing my emotions and emotion/feelings is where poets create their best work. Just because emotions or feelings exist does not mean that they are surface feelings and vice versa, just because you don’t see or experience the feelings on a surface level does not mean that they do not exist.

What is it that you want and is it all worth it?

The work the hurt the challenges

Can you define the checks and the balances?

The luxury the love

All the accomplishments

The smiles the winces

The unending compliments

Does it all make sense?

Can’t tell if my heart is bleeding in black or red

Somewhere in between

Really should be grateful I’m not dead

Keeping my eyes to the sky

Thanking the Lord on high

Keeping me grounded

Faith unfounded

Trying to give you the love you never had

Didn’t realize it would hurt me so bad

A man of two souls

One side got me feelin like I’m dreamin

The other side got my knees to the floor

Cryin and screamin

Handin me a glass then spillin the milk

Is this what you waited for?

Linens of cotton and silk

3 bath 3 bedrooms

The kids are all here

Keep me going

Run away from the fear

Wonder who you talkin to when you’re not here

Is it really your buddy?

Talkin garnet gold spears

Is it temu? Is it tinder? Is it socials?

The gangs all here

Rippin away my pride

Puttin me in a position I have to decide

Should I stay or should I go?

Is that how you grow?

Walk away and fix up your glow?

Or save face and walk away to the kitchen

Mama always in there cookin the dinner and fixins

Raising those babies

Teaching them right from wrong

Playin this song

Is this what you want for them?

Secrets and lies

Deceit in disguise

Tell me you’re comin over and never show up, what a surprise

Been texting me short all week

Turns out you were already having conversations

Giving into all your temptations

You say it isn’t cheating based on technicality

Yet all along that was my reality

“If it ain’t physical then it ain’t cheatin”

All up in the DM’s

Why you creepin?

Gettin emotional

Sharin your feelins

While I’m waitin up for you to come home in the evenin

Hangin on your every word like it’s my soul that you’re feedin

Trusting in you when trust was somethin I couldn’t believe in

Convince me of a facade so you don’t catch me leavin

Have me all to yourself and all them too

Got me sittin in silence, stuck in my head grievin

Feelin like I don’t know what to do

I don’t know how I’m feelin

I have love for you

Boy I love you

I can’t wait for the day when you really become a man

To our right for each other we always gonna stand

The sorrow the silence

The weeping in violence

One day we can throw it in the safe and lock it up tight

Put the past behind us and one day maybe we’ll be able to see all that light

Maybe one day we can sleep straight through the night

Knowing in the end it’s all gonna be alright

Wake up to the morning sun

Time to shine and rise

Forever your ride or die

Beggin me not to give up on you

It was just one line

Yea, I’ve heard that line

Servin up a meal but no appetite to dine

I did it all for you

You know I always will

I hope you remember me next time you wanna talk about what you feel

#poetryportal #poet #pain #deceit #freestyle #home

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

wallflower 14

Warnings: age gap, creepin’, slow burn, stepdad-adjacent, possible noncon/dubcon, abuse, violence, self-harm.

Character: silverfox!Thor

Your mother meets a new man, but he doesn’t seem very interested in her.

Note: <3 Another erratic drabble series. Appreciate any and all feedback. Love you all.

Masterlist

You retreat into your usual despondence. You don’t like strangers. This man might be Thor’s brother but you don’t know him. He’s a therapist even but that only reminds you of all the things your mother ever said about those. ‘A bunch of nonsense, you’re not depressed, you’re just lazy’.

You cup your cheeks as you huddle in the chair, legs bent on the seat as you wait. You just want this to be over with. You have nothing to say. You told Thor you didn’t want to talk, didn't you?

Loki shifts across from you, his stature straight as he rests an elbow on the armrest. He raises his chin as he takes a breath, his movement flickering in the corner of your eye. You pick at the belt of the robe and twist it tight.

“Tell me about your mood,” he begins evenly.

You squeeze the fabric belt and shrug. That’s an odd question. Not even a question, it sounds like a demand. You shake your head.

“Look, I’ve not come to rehash your past, but there is some concern for your wellbeing and my profession does compel me to offer support. My brother, more so. You must know how insistent he can be, yes?”

You put your fingertips to your lower lip. You measure his words as you bite your cheek. “I know,” you say.

“Alright then, how is your mood?” He repeats gently.

You look at the floor, the tasseled edge of the patterned rug that rests over the dark hardwood. How do you feel? There’s so many emotions brewing in your chest, it might be easier to say how you don’t feel; happy, free, hopeful. Would you even know what that truly feels like?

“Dull,” you murmur at last, “I… sorry, that’s stupid. I… feel a lot.”

“It isn’t stupid, that is not how we refer to emotions. They are human, natural. Take your time.”

His voice is calming, smooth like the feel of satin, or a flowing river. You rub your neck and exhale, tucking your feet under you as you lean into the corner of the chair.

“Why?”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Why do I have to say?”

“Well, darling,” he says softly, “because that is just how it works. Perhaps, let me go a little further and ask, why do you not want to say?”

You sniff and drop your shoulders as you cross your arms, “you’re not here because you want to be, so why would you care?”

He leans forward, “do you mind speaking up, it is hard to hear you.”

“Sorry, I–”

“Sorry?” He repeats, “you apologise often.”

You shake your head and dip your chin down. You hold back another reiteration of the word. You are sorry; for yourself, for him that he’s been dragged here, for Thor that he has to put up with you, even your mother who suffered you for years.

“Maybe,” you answer.

“I have another question, if you wouldn’t mind entertaining me and my quackery,” he intones, “has there ever been anyone who asked you how you felt and listened?”

You flinch and curl your fingers around your upper arms, hugging yourself tighter. You think, sorting through the fog of your mind, the years of being forgotten, of spite and resent. It was never about you, but you do recall how often your mother spewed her every thought, every feeling, no matter how nasty, at you.

“Well, then I understand,” he takes your silence for what it is, “that this is all new to you, so I will be patient and I only need you to do that once thing. Tell me, how is your mood? Not yesterday, not an hour ago, right now.”

You swallow and bring your hands up to twine your fingers in front of your chest. You peek over at him as he watches you placidly. His long nose and sharp cheekbones catch the lamplight in rather alluring way. You’re not as scared of him as you thought, not looking at him. He’s not as sinister as you made him in your mind.

“I’m…” you start and twist your fingers around each other, “sad, and scared, and…I really do feel sorry.”

You look at your lap again and wait. He hums and the leather chair creaks, “what makes you sad?”

Your chest flutters and you press your hands flat as if to still your heart. You swallow and shakily let out a breath, “my mother. Me. I try so hard and she’s never happy. So I’m not happy either.”

“Mhmm, and why are you scared?”

That’s a harder question. You don’t quite know entirely. You’re not afraid of Thor, are you? Well, you’re afraid of everything and everyone. You’re the coward your mother always said you were.

“Being away from home, I guess. I don’t leave much and being here, I feel… lost.”

“Understandable, and my brother? Does he scare you?”

“He’s nice. He…” you think of your mother’s hollering and the impact of her fists. You hide your face in your hands, “he helped me.”

“Pardon, he… helped?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter and pull your hands down your face.

“And what are you sorry for?”

Your lip trembles and you feel the burning behind your eyes. Your throat tightens and you fidget, moving in the chair, trying to get comfortable as the cushion is crushed beneath your weight. You pull at the loose sleeve around your wrist, the fabric brushing the bruises along your upper arm.

“For being a burden. To my mother. And now, Thor. I can’t do anything right, or on my own, I…” your voice trails off in embarrassment, “and that you have to sit here with me.”

“Well that’s silly, don’t be sorry for me,” he reproaches, “it seems to me you take a lot of things upon your own shoulders. That you put other’s actions in your own lap and drown beneath them. As little as I know of your situation, I would assume that you have little control and so you try to take control by claiming responsibility for others actions, even if those actions harm you.”

Your face is wet. You’re crying again. You draw back and lower your face, wiping away the tears as you slump down. You don’t want him to see you cry. You don’t want to cry. Why is it all you can do?

You hear a scuff and his shadow nears, looming over you as a tissue suddenly floats before you. You look up as he holds out the kleenex and you thank him as you take it. He backs up slowly and paces along the wall. You dab your cheek and blow your nose.

“You did well, darling, I think that’s enough talk for today,” he speaks as he traces the frame of a picture hung before him, “I will confer with my brother and offer some coping strategies for you. He did report you have some… episodes.”

You remain quiet as you pinch the tip of your nose through the tissue, trying to quell the flow of tears.

“Ways to help you,” he spins and tucks his hands in his pockets, “can you try those?”

“I… y-yes, I’ll try.”

“Very well, then,” he crosses the room with smooth strides, “I will leave you to gather yourself.”

#wallflower #thor #dark thor #dark!thor #loki #au #thor x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #avengers